Evading The Orbit
by TrampyVampies
Summary: Edward & Jasper are two anti-social college students who share a close & solitary friendship. When Jasper’s feelings grow, will Edward succumb to the pressure of high-expectation, or embrace his feelings and evade the orbit of conformity? E/J Slash AH/OOC
1. Amicably Affronted

**A.N.** Twilight and its characters belong to the glorious SM. I only borrow them and make them trampyvampies because I'm a fruity bitch.

This is my first attempt at slash or much of anything. I love the concept of E/J and just felt the urge to write this premise that has been nagging me relentlessly. I feel a little intimidated given the awesome caliber of E/J slash fics already present on this site. I hope I'm not stepping on any slashy toes, but if I am, feel free to poke me and slap my wrist. I worked really hard to make things as original and as far away from other popular fics as the premise made possible. I'm really trying to go with something a little darker and angstier with this particular story, but still romance in many ways.

I don't have a beta yet sadly, so there may be minor errors that will make me cringe when I go back and re-read this in the future. So sorry. I hope where they exist, they won't distract you. Thanks so much for reading!

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**Chapter 1: Amicably Affronted  
~-*-~**

The smoky bar filled with shrill whistles and loud applause as the small band exited the stage.

I turned back to Jasper with an excited grin and a breathless chuckle. "Impressive." I shouted over the clapping crowd as it faded and grew as close to silence as this bar gets.

"Pretty good shit, didn't I tell ya'?" He asked smugly, clearly pleased with my reaction to his suggestion we come to check out this local indie band tonight.

I nodded enthusiastically and raised my hand to a barmaid, motioning to my empty bottle. "It's so hard to find anything good around here. I don't know how you do it." I offered admiringly. Seattle was an apex of musical talent, but I was picky when it came to live music and Jasper somehow always managed to find the diamonds in the rough. And truthfully, we had been working our asses off for the semester. It was good to let loose a little in _this _particular way, on _this_ particular night. He was always intuitive like that.

Jasper Hale and I were both seniors at UW Seattle. I was participating in a medical program, and succeeding rather proudly at becoming top of my class, while Jasper studied psychiatry and criminal law – forensic psychiatry to be exact. We met our freshman year in a shared course on Ethics, and ever since then, we'd remained good friends. We both had a lot in common, foremost our over-achieving aspirations and unrealistic goals. Neither of us got out much because of our demanding educations, but we always made an effort to cut loose when we could. We had endless amounts of professors and counselors pushing us to work harder, faster, more, but… sometimes, you need someone to push you to ease up a little.

And that's what Jasper and I were to each other. Reminders that none of it was worth it unless we could get some kind of enjoyment out of the college experience, no matter how minimal it may be. We had a custom on the weekends in which we'd force each other to go out and take pleasure in the Seattle night life. Unfortunately, we both had another thing in common: We were painfully anti-social and solitary to a fault.

A redheaded barmaid delivered our beverages, and I smirked at Jasper's rare expression of interest as his eyes raked over her bare legs hungrily.

"See something you like?" I sniggered after she departed. I'd never seen Jasper with a woman, but he'd never seen me with a woman either. There was no time for stuff like that in either of our lives. We had discussed this in the past, and it was just one more thing we shared in common. Earlier in our college years, we had tried to entertain relationships with girls, only to find that the action of juggling them with all of our responsibility was simply too much of a risk to our studies. It just wasn't realistic to attempt both at the same time. I think we both knew that _now_ was the time for school, and we could do all that other stuff later. Girls weren't going anywhere.

Raising his bottle to his lips, he kept his eyes glued on her ass as she weaved around the tables. "Fuck yes. I haven't had the time lately to even _think_ about anything… like _that_." He emphasized the last word with a nod in her direction as she leaned over the bar counter and poked her little ass out.

_Fuck. _She kind of wiggled it a little while speaking to the bartender and I allowed my imagination to run wild for a fraction of a second.

"I know what you mean." I grumbled sympathetically. As usual, everything that wasn't related to the vascular system or complex theorems got sorely neglected – my libido included.

"How long's it been for you?" He asked absently, twirling his bottle cap on the table and still leering at the redhead who was continually swaying her ass casually from side to side over the bar.

I began thinking back to my last sexual encounter and… geez. Had it really been that long? _Good grief_. "Two years." I confessed quietly while staring at the exact same scene desirously.

Jasper sighed as his eyes remained fixed. "Three here." He shook his head and eventually shifted his gaze back to me. I gave him a sympathetic glance as I drank my beer. Three years was a long time. Not since freshman year. If it hadn't been for Tanya, I'd be in that same boat.

Not that two years was much of an improvement.

Not that _Tanya_ should even be considered a valid sexual encounter.

With a wry smile, he shifted his gaze around the bar and sunk into his seat lazily. "What do you prefer?" He asked curiously while inclining his head at a group of women in the middle of the establishment.

Honestly, we had been drinking for a good while. I was already sporting a really nice buzz, so I didn't hesitate to answer that. I'd been looking at one in particular for the last hour.

"That brunette with the red dick-sucking-lips." I nodded in the direction of a tall girl, around our age, with shoulder length brown hair and… lips. She had those lips, and I licked mine just thinking about them around my dick.

Did I mention that alcohol makes me vulgar and slightly crude?

Well… it does.

Jasper seemed momentarily taken aback by my frank statement, but once his eyes met the brunette's face, he blew out a puff of air. "Here, here." He raised his bottle in agreement and took a quick swig, his adam's apple bobbing with his swift swallows.

It was odd, because Jasper and I never discussed things of this nature. Our conversations were always limited because they always ended up straying to something educational – at times even philosophical. Though we had this routine to seek out easy going fun, we much enjoyed the intellectual stimulation of the other's company. Our good natured debates had been known for keeping us out at all hours.

Tonight, something was different. We weren't talking about Plato or Frued or microorganisms. We were talking about females.

We began scanning the crowd of women, making passing comments on our favorite qualities and being totally crude assholes in the process of this new found dynamic in which we could act like twenty-two-year-old hormonal men and not be awkward about it. It was quite pleasant, and I much enjoyed the deviation from our typically mundane and school-related discussions.

The blonde's petite hips, the short girl's exposed belly ring and matching tramp stamp, and the brunette's lips were all important highlights of the evening. But this time we appreciated her tits too, because really… we didn't want them to feel left out. It was only courteous to make mention of them as well.

"I can think of a thousand things to do to those." Jasper sighed longingly while staring rather unabashedly at her chest. His eyes were heavy with intoxication and lust and darkened in a way that was admittedly unfamiliar to me. I'd never seen him checking out women like this before, and now he was basically… well… eye fucking her.

Tactless bitch.

I, on the other hand, chose the route of polite admiration as I slouched forward, leaning over the table so I could speak in a low voice only audible to my companion. "I'd throw her over that bar, slip her panties down, grab her hips, shove my dick so far inside of her that she screams, and then fuck her so hard that she'd forget her name, address, date of birth, and social security number." I licked my lips excitedly before taking a long pull from my beer bottle. Okay. Maybe I was a tactless bitch too. Whatever. Two years.

Jasper had grown silent while I gazed at the woman and drank my beer. I wasn't sure what reaction I'd expected from him, but I wondered if I had taken it too far as he remained wordless. That buzz was going more toward drunk because we had been drinking for far too long, and I began feeling nervous that I'd made the atmosphere awkward by crossing some invisible line.

When I met his gaze, he'd gone completely rigid in his seat, which… confused me. His eyes were pointed downward to the table, and his jaw was taught, his fingers idly twirling the bottle cap in an oddly aggressive fashion. I eyed his tense expression in bewilderment before clearing my throat and looking away in shame.

I mean, we didn't usually talk about sex… at all, but he just didn't ever strike me as the prude type in the past four years we'd known each other. Now, I felt guilty and ashamed, which annoyed me because I was just blowing off steam. Nothing to get offended over. Before I could apologize or… insult his over-sensitivity – because I was too drunk to make the decision at the moment which he deserved more – the bar made 'last call for alcohol' and it was time to leave.

We left the bar wordlessly, and my steps felt a lot steadier than they likely were. Jasper remained silent at my side as we walked down the sidewalk toward the dorms. The night was cool and breezy and there were a few persons traversing back to their dorms for the night once we reached the campus. I'd close my eyes every now and again and absorb greedy gulps of fresh air, thankful for the lack of stale bar smoke that likely still clung to my clothing, but still grateful for the outing.

When we reached Jasper's dorm building, he halted and turned to me. His eyes shifted around the area without meeting my gaze. "So, I'll uh… I guess…" He faltered dumbly, and I grinned lazily that he was stammering drunk and I wasn't all alone. After clearing his throat and shifting from foot to foot, he simply asked in a mumble, "Tomorrow then?" Shoving his hands into his jean pockets with his gaze fixed on the toes of his black shoes.

"Tomorrow." I said in farewell, and it didn't escape my notice that he stiffened further as my hand met his shoulder with a cordial clap. It seemed odd to me, but I could see the image of my bed in my mind and I wanted it even more than I wanted pussy or my doctorate. So I turned and left him standing in front of his building under a bright security light, a blank and unreadable expression on his face and his blonde hair blowing wildly in the passing gust of chilly wind.

Thanks to the state of my awareness, a long night of sleep, and a slightly stinging hangover, I'd forgotten about the whole awkwardness of the evening by the time he called me the following night.

"I need food before I murder Emmett in a sloppy attempt to inherit that sub he has stashed away in the mini fridge." Jasper's voice intonated over the phone while I stood at my counter island. I shook my head at the mention of his dorm mate and constant annoyance, Emmett McCarty.

"You take criminal law, Jasper. You couldn't possibly be a sloppy homicidal lunatic." I smirked in mention of his chosen profession. I always found it a rather peculiar choice, but he'd always say something about the intricacies of the criminal mind and emotions.

He snorted on the other end before I heard something shuffling around. "Lack of sustenance has been known to affect one's cognitive memory, I'll have you know." He replied distractedly, and then more shuffling. "I'm putting on my shoes. Meet me at Angel's Italian in thirty?" He asked and I gave confirmation before hanging up.

We didn't always go to the bar on weekends. In fact, it was fairly rare for us to get drunk like we did the previous evening. This felt more normal and comfortable and I was glad the incident wasn't causing any friction between us.

When I arrived at Angel's Italian, which was only a short walk from my building, Jasper was already inside and waiting by the hostess area for me. He quickly nodded his head in acknowledgment before allowing the hostess to seat us some place in the back. This was a restaurant we frequented because we both knew and went to school with the owner's daughter, Angela Webber. Our affiliation gave us a discount, which, in all honesty, I didn't really need. Jasper, on the other hand, wasn't as wealthy as me and took full advantage of the opportunity.

Once seated, we both ordered our usual. The little old grey haired waitress who often served us just smiled and shook her head with a comment about how she "shouldn't even bother to take our orders anymore."

She was a kind old lady and we both thanked her profusely before she departed to get our drinks. I never let Jasper know, but I always tipped her an extra twenty before we departed. He'd always wink at her playfully, and I could swear I'd seen the old woman blush before. That was his extra tip.

"So, the ban on stem cell research." Jasper began while taking a swipe at the front of his shirt uselessly. He then raised an eyebrow, his full lips pulling up into a wry grin that revealed a small dimple on each cheek.

I grinned deliberately and immediately plunged him into conversation. I went into the pros and cons and my own personal beliefs regarding the topic while Jasper folded his hands under chin and listened intently. He always got this little groove in his brow whenever he disagreed with something, so I knew by instinct that we both shared similar opinions on the subject when it remained smooth and untainted with thought.

We spoke about the topic until our food arrived, and Jasper's eyes were wide with hunger, though this time, it was much less uncomfortable. I chuckled as he began eating some kind of ravioli with enthusiasm, and I shifted my attention to my delicious plate of linguini. Angel's had the best pasta in the state, of that I was certain.

We ate in silence because we were both too hungry to take a pause in eating to say anything. My only problem was the untidiness in which I always managed to eat my food. Somehow, I'd always end up getting the sauce on my chin or hands or… shoulder. Yes. Shoulder. Don't ask me how I do it. It's like some kind of sick aptitude that has cursed me since birth.

Today it was my wrist, and I glared at the large spot of sauce that stained my flesh right above my sleeve. With an inner sneer at my messiness, I darted out my tongue and took a long lick across my wrist and hand, catching any sauce on my flesh and sweeping it up to my fingertips.

Jasper abruptly made a strangled coughing sound, alerting me as my face jerked up from my hand to assess him. He began sputtering and coughing into his fist while clutching his fork, and at my alarmed expression, raised a hand in a dismissive gesture signaling that he was okay. With a reddened face and glazed eyes, he managed to compose himself and assured me once again that he was fine at my concern. This was good, because I didn't have nearly as much faith or confidence in my knowledge of the Heimlich maneuver as I definitely should have.

I continued eating, but Jasper pushed away his plate. "I think I'm done." He muttered tersely while running his fingers through his hair and fixing his gaze on the table. Immediately, I noticed the air of tension about him. He was entirely rigid in his seat with his jaw locked tightly and his hand balled into a tight fist, much like the previous night in the bar. Only this time I was certain I did nothing wrong, so instead of being annoyed by his behavior, I was merely curious and mildly concerned once again.

"You sure you're okay, man?" I asked in worry, and his curt nod did little to assure me, but I let it drop and ate my meal with haste so as not to bore him. There were further sauce debacles, namely on my lips and chin and I'd dart my tongue out to lick them clean while Jasper remained rigid and stiff and kept his gaze fixed on the wooden grain of the table. I could see a faint shade of pink creep up to his cheeks, but reasoned it must have been from his choking fit.

When I'd finished my meal and paid and tipped the waitress, Jasper remained seated until I stood and turned to approach the doors. He was acting oddly while we exited, and I probably wouldn't have even noticed if I hadn't been paying such close attention.

He refused to walk in front of me or at my side regardless of how much I slowed my steps. Instead, he remained a careful distance behind me, which made me even more curious as to his behavior. After we had walked a good distance, he eventually moved stealthily to my side and fell into my steps silently. It was the same silence as the previous night; tense and a little awkward, but only because of Jasper's shifty gaze. I couldn't understand why he looked so out of sorts.

I fixed my eyes on the ground as we walked, noting the way Jasper and I always managed to conform into a synchronized step – even though I was fairly certain my legs were longer. He led with his left, I led with my left. The sounds of our shoes hitting the pavement were precise and comfortingly in-time. It made everything feel… right and orderly. A grin tugged at my lips before I quickly suppressed it. Something like footsteps simply shouldn't have that effect on a person.

Truthfully, eating had only taken us one hour. On nights we went out to eat, we usually utilized the time spent walking afterwards to make further plans for the night. Sometimes we'd go by the park or my condo, and others we'd go to the bar. So he surprised me as he suddenly halted his steps at the corner that led to the dormitory. I turned to him with an inquiring expression as he shoved his hands into his jean pockets and looked about with an edgy expression.

"I think I'm gonna' call it a night." He informed me softly while nudging a rock with the toe of his shoe. My brows furrowed in confusion and that same mild concern over his behavior. He'd stopped eating and wanted to go home early. There _must _have been something wrong, I was convinced. He glanced up at me from under his lashes briefly before darting them back down to his shoes and swallowing rather noticeably. "I haven't been feeling well. I think there's a bug going around or something..." He added in an obvious attempt to subdue my visibly concerned expression.

"Oh. " I replied slowly, cocking my head to the side thoughtfully. "Well, what are your symptoms?" I asked in a clinical voice that I'd likely inherited from my father. Symptoms and illnesses intrigued me, and I glowed at the opportunity to use my knowledge to assist someone I cared about. It gave me a fleeting sense of pride that I was likely more advanced than anyone else in the medical program. It made my lack of social life feel a little less pathetic.

A little.

Jasper's eyes darted to mine and back down again before he shrugged lightly and furrowed his brows at his shoes. "Uh… well… it's nothing really… you know, explainable. I've just… I-I don't know. Felt off?" His statement emerged as a stammering and broken question as his brows pulled together further. I'd begun arranging a series of questions for him to answer in regards to his condition, but before I had the opportunity to voice them, he quickly spun on his heel.

"See you later!" He called over his shoulder while walking away from me rather briskly.

"Hope you feel better." was my lame reply, though he was much too far away to hear me by the time I managed to recover from the shock of his departure. With a roll of my eyes at my lameness, I began the trek back to my apartment and prepared myself for a long night of complete tedium.

_Shit_, I need a life.

**~-*-~**

I spent Sunday and the beginning of the week much like I always did. I immersed myself in work and papers and practically lived at the library and my desk at home. I never saw Jasper around the campus during the beginning of the week, but that wasn't terribly unusual. Our class schedules had been made so askew that we rarely ever crossed paths.

I ate lunch with Angela and Ben on Tuesday, but only did so because Ben was in many of my classes and I wanted to get some insight into his plans for the following semester. There was an undergrad TA position available, and I was playing with the notion of applying for it. It'd look excellent on paper, and even though I had reservations about embracing more responsibility, I was certain it'd be worth the effort and sacrifice. Ben assured me that he was in no position to apply at the moment.

"I think Angela would throw a fit if I took on anything more." He smiled at the attractive brown haired girl at his side. I smiled in understanding and quickly engaged him in a conversation regarding a new medical technique that our professor had been gushing over for the week. Ben didn't look all that pleased to discuss anything school related, so I quickly took my leave.

I didn't really have anything else to talk to him about.

I didn't really have anything else to talk to _anyone_ about.

My mother called on Wednesday, right on schedule, and talked my ear off about my father's practice and how proud they both were of me. It all sounded very sincere. Key word being: sounded. Honestly, I knew they were disappointed that I didn't go to a better school. Edward Anthony Masen Senior was Chicago's finest surgeon and everything a good boy should aspire to. They always envisioned me as Ivy League material, and perhaps I may have been. But at a school like that, I couldn't outshine every student there. It would be nearly impossible to get noticed in an environment where my kind of intellect was simply pedestrian. Here, at a state college, I was top of my program and the competition was far less intimidating, if not altogether non-existent. It would get me farther in the long run. They just couldn't see the benefit of strategy like I could.

That's just how they were. They expected the best, and they gave me an abundance of space while I strived to accomplish it. Sometimes I was grateful for the lack of nagging that most of my peers endured from their overbearing parents. I was also quite grateful for the money that mine invested in my tuition and apartment and every expense, and always without question or hesitation. But… sometimes, I felt much like a family pet – my pricey apartment the doghouse in the backyard. Sometimes their gifts and suggestive praise felt like an unbelievable amount of pressure. Sometimes I felt empty and alone as a result of my various 'sacrifices' made for the benefit of achieving something so demanding of myself and my time.

Mot times, I felt overwhelmingly grateful that I'd never had the opportunity to know any other way of life than _this_. I'd never know what I was missing.

**~-*-~**

Early Thursday morning, I went to the campus gym and waited in the locker room until Jasper arrived. We always went to the gym on Thursdays. It was a magnificent stress reducer and a perfect outlet for tension. It also helped us maintain a healthy lifestyle at a time in our lives that made it difficult to do so.

He arrived not long after me, and I regarded him carefully for any signs of illness as he entered the room and dropped his gym bag onto the bench. He didn't appear to have any outwardly obvious signs of physical distress. His eyes were clear, though clouded in a way that suggested he'd just woken up, which was something I'd expected. His movements weren't sluggish and his skin didn't seem pale or sallow in any fashion. He looked just fine. The picture of health in fact, and he grinned at me slightly while placing his bag into a locker and wordlessly exiting the room at my side.

We warmed up for a few minutes before beginning our usual routine on the treadmills. Jasper didn't speak or really even look at me the entire time. I wondered if this 'bug' wasn't actually school or family related troubles because he seemed utterly focused, and as a result, rather distracted from the task at hand.

As we ran on the treadmills, gradually increasing our speeds, I allowed my mind to wander to various inconsequential things. Running was always a great method of distraction and a perfect opportunity to just… think. My body pulsed with energy and adrenaline and I felt refreshing surges of power behind my hard steps. It was my favorite exercise activity, and we remained silent, with only our hard breaths and soft footsteps echoing through the deserted room. No one in their right minds gets up this early on campus. No one but Jasper and I, that is.

After I had begun thoroughly spilling sweat from every pore of my body and my chest burned with my sharp breaths, I stilled the machine and slowly cooled down, Jasper immediately following. As per usual, we went to weights next, and Jasper finally began speaking as he eased himself down onto the weight bench and gripped the bar above him.

"I got laid last night." He revealed in a sharp voice, staring up at me as his hands lingered on the bar and I prepared to spot him. Immediately, a light pink flush covered his cheeks.

I quirked an eyebrow, more than a little staggered by his confession and utterly uncertain as how to respond. "Um… attaboy?" I shrugged timidly and wrapped my hands around the bar between his. I didn't know what he wanted me to say. I tried to imagine what a normal college guy would say, like Emmett, but I lacked the audacity required to ask for details. I actually rather wished he wouldn't have told me at all.

Jasper's eyes slowly slid closed and he took a deep breath before lifting the bar and taking the full weight over his body. I stood diligently at his head while he pressed the weights and allowed my mind to wander about his confession.

Maybe I was a little jealous that he had managed to escape and have fun, and my lips pursed in thought as I watched his chest heave with breaths. I was definitely a little jealous, but also somewhat confused as to why he'd go out… _on a school night_ to accomplish this… whatever. It appalled me. Was he really being so careless? I couldn't fathom him taking that kind of risk because it was just so out of character for him.

Truthfully, I began feeling more and more envious, and the more I watched him exert his energy pressing the weights in a normal and predictable fashion, I forced myself to admit that not _all_ of my envy was directed at Jasper alone. A good portion, but not _all_.

I began wondering who this girl was. This… quick fuck? I was hoping she'd be a quick fuck. My mind began processing what it'd be like if he really got close to a woman, and the image it provoked made me sour. I could imagine him becoming burdened by some girl and blowing me off on the weekends, or… just entirely as he juggled a relationship with the demand of his studies. He'd have no time for me whatsoever. It was just like a guy to get some pussy and forget about his friends. It made me nervous and apprehensive about encouraging this new relationship of his. But really, I should have just been happy that he was happy.

_Was he happy?_

I studied his face closely as he lifted and raised the weights, his face reddened from exertion. His lips puffed out with air on every press, and his eyes remained fixed on the ceiling above his head. That crease in his brows was present, as if he were being very thoughtful and preparing a counter-argument to one of our debates. But he didn't _look_ like a man that had just discovered his soul mate or anything. His eyes weren't alight and shining with the excitement of a new relationship. He didn't engage me in light-hearted and witty banter about her. He didn't have any kind of post-coital glow.

He was just… Jasper, but a little… off.

Quieter. Higher-strung. Edgier. Moodier. _Huh._

Maybe he _did_ need to get laid.

When he finished, I guided the weights back to the bench, waiting patiently as he remained still and stared at the ceiling, catching his breath and cooling down. He flexed his fists in a way that made his muscular arms ripple and twitch as he slowly rose.

When he emerged from the bench, I took his previous position on my back, resting my hands around the bar, and still thoughtful over this new emergence of "Jasper, The Lady's Man." The notion made my stomach churn. Admittedly, it was slightly disconcerting that it bothered me so much.

I allowed my eyes to drift to his where he stood directly over my head. His light green eyes were fixed on my chin, or… maybe even my lips as I began to raise the bar. His eyes widened minutely and he took hold of the bar with me, guiding it to my front. I lowered the weights, appreciating the ease in which he managed to lift them so easily as I strained to copy him.

Jasper was stronger than me.

_This_ didn't make me envious or feel competitive like it would most men. I wondered again at my reaction to his confession, and came back to my original conclusion when I considered my lack of desire to go out and… match him one. I was in no mood to find a quick fuck. I just didn't want _him_ to get a quick fuck. I wanted him to spend his weekends entertaining me with discussions on stem cell research and state-of-the-art microscopes. I was selfish, and it made a surge of guilt invade my chest as my arms strained under the weight of my presses.

I lifted and lowered, all the while heaving breaths and staring fixedly at the ceiling above me. I counted in my mind to distract myself from weird and possessive thoughts of my best friend that I really shouldn't have been feeling.

When I again allowed my eyes to drift to his, I was perplexed by his expression. He was staring down at me blankly, but his eyes were once again fixed on my lips where my breaths were emerging in loud huffs. His face was still pink from his workout, and his breathing was deep and labored. His hands were resting on the back of the bench and I could just barely discern the minute and slight twitch of his arms with my every lift.

Suddenly, his eyes wandered to mine, oddly darkened and heavy lidded before widening in alarm. He jerked his gaze away and withdrew from the bench until I'd decided that I couldn't endure anymore of either thing.

The weights met the bench with a loud clang. I shot up from my position while whirling on him angrily. He had retreated to a nearby weight bench, angled partially away from me with his head down. "What the fuck is going on with you?" I demanded in irritation. I knew I shouldn't have been angry, but… for some reason, I was. Really pissed off, actually.

Without meeting my gaze he spoke, "Why do you think something's wrong? Because I got laid?" He asked in an arrogant tone while running his hand through his hair, sweeping it off of his dampened forehead.

I huffed and pinched the bridge of my nose in annoyance while squeezing my eyes closed. "Are you fucking kidding me?" I mumbled under my breath, though I knew that he could hear. When I opened my eyes he was staring at me with a blank expression. _What the fuck is his deal?_ "You got laid, Jasper. I get it. Do you want me to jump around and throw confetti for you or something? Because I'm sure I have some handy in my 'Things I Don't Give a Fuck About' celebration stash." I replied sarcastically, entirely annoyed that he had managed to bring it up _again_.

He chuckled humorlessly and sunk back onto the bench, resting on his elbows while his toe tapped the floor rapidly. "What's wrong, Eddie? Jealous that I got my dick wet while you sat around in your condo and masturbated to textbook anatomical references?" He shot haughtily.

I blanched, and I could feel my face lose all its color as I absorbed his spiteful words. It hurt. I couldn't figure out why it hurt me so badly. Maybe because his insinuation that I had no life was spot on, or maybe it was hearing the words come from someone I considered to be such a close friend, but either way, it hurt.

I shifted my gaze from his and locked my jaw, fighting down the incorrect emotions that emerged. I wanted to be pissed off and furious about it. Not hurt. Hurt was for pussies. I decided that I could find a middle ground between hurt and pissed, and go with offended.

"That's nice, Jasper." I replied, clearing my throat in an attempt to remove the lump that had risen. I met his gaze and shook my head. "I was just worried about how you'd been acting lately because I cared. But I see that caring turns you into a total asshole, so I won't be making that mistake again." I rose from my position and approached the locker room, all but basking in his crumpled expression of remorse.

"Wait!" He called before I reached the door, and I turned slowly to meet his gaze. His eyes were wide and pleading. "You're right, I'm sorry. You were just being considerate and I had to throw it back in your face." He rose from his elbows and propped them on his knees, dropping his head into his hands. "I've been having a weird week." He mumbled into his palms as I crossed my arms over my chest.

I creased my brows and regarded him warily. I wanted to offer help, but doing so obviously bothered him. Instead I went with a sharp and tense, "Do you want to talk about it?" and allowed him an easy out that didn't include using petty – and _partially _accurate – insults.

I _do not_ masturbate to textbook anatomical references.

I _do_ have broadband internet with conveniently wonderful bandwidth for streaming video.

He sighed into his hands and lifted his head, rubbing his palms on his thighs without meeting my gaze. "I can't talk to… _you_… about _this_." He admitted in a strangled whisper that unnerved me.

My face fell a little when I realized that he didn't feel comfortable confiding in me about something so blatantly significant to him. "You can tell me anything, Jasper." I assured him sincerely. My mind began creating the worst scenarios possible, and I couldn't imagine my reactions to anything he told me to be anything less than understanding.

He met my gaze finally and shook his head, wearing an alien expression of shyness as he tucked his blonde hair behind his ear. "I really don't think I could." He whispered before averting his timid gaze to his lap.

I frowned and leaned back against the locker room door while I stared at him. "Is it drugs?" I hedged. He furrowed his brows at his lap and shook his head. "Is it anything illegal?" I asked in concern. He shook his head once more without meeting my gaze. I pursed my lips thoughtfully at my shoes as I recalled his earlier confession. Perhaps... he was being shy, and considering his reaction to my comments at the bar, the next guess was an easy assumption to make. "Is it about the girl from last night? Did you have… issues with performing?" I asked the final portion in a lowly hushed whisper.

His head jolted up and eyes widened in alarm. "God! What? No! _Shit_, no! Why in the hell would you think that? Did you hear something?" He demanded in a frantic voice, his eyes shifting around the room anxiously.

I grimaced and raked my fingers through my sweat-dampened hair. "Sorry, I didn't mean to suggest… I was just… you know… guessing." I muttered before huffing and banging the back of my head against the door behind me. I really knew how to put my foot in my mouth.

He shook his head and rose from the bench while averting his heated gaze to the floor as he paced it. He began rambling in a swift and frenzied tone, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, "Well, it has nothing to do with that. I performed flawlessly, thank you very much. I'll be surprised if she doesn't start a 'Jasper: The Best Campus Fuck in History' fan club. She'll create alters in devotion to my dick. I've probably ruined all men for her, such high standards and all that. I didn't just 'perform', in fact. I fucked her into oblivion. She chanted my name like Jasper was a goddamn deity, you know? Multiple orgasms. Fucking multiples. She'll be telling her grandkids about the biggest dick she's ever had the pleasure of meeting when she's old and married and bored with the flaccid-"

"OKAY!" I snapped in annoyance while raising my hands. "I get it, man. What the hell? Defensive much?" I asked incredulously.

He might as well have been pounding his fists to his chest with a clichéd "I am man, hear me roar."

He halted his pacing and faced me with wild eyes and loud huffs. I couldn't fathom why it had bothered him so much? I mean, sure. My insinuation was somewhat emasculating, but a simple "No" would have sufficed.

Instead of offering me any explanation, he shifted his gaze from mine and abruptly began sprinting for the exit.

"Jasper!?" I called disbelievingly as he exited the gym and left me standing completely puzzled in front of the locker room.

**~-*-~**

I expected his call the following evening as I sat at my desk with books spread out in front of me. He always called on Friday nights, and I was ready to apologize or whatever had to be done to remove this bizarre hostility between us.

Unfortunately, he never called.

I waited anxiously and forced back the notion that he was spending the night out with that _girl_ he had fucked. I knew it was a possibility. Given the opportunity to go out with a girl and get laid made spending a night with me look downright dull. Could I blame him? Not exactly. This just made me feel impossibly worse. My foreign envy and possessiveness over Jasper grew, and with that emotion, my confusion grew as well.

I spent the following day aggravated, confused with my emotions, and busy with assignments and paper deadlines. I was certain that he wouldn't ignore me for the entire weekend. It wasn't like Jasper at all. Even on vacations and holidays he managed to contact me on the weekends – if only to complain about his sister or the lack of intellectual stimulation in his hometown circle of friends. Surely, this _girl_ wouldn't be so much of a distraction that he forgot about me all together?

I was _not _competing with pussy. I really couldn't, and I refused to call him because of this fact. I was frightened that he was becoming more like every other guy on campus, and I'd be left behind while he went out with her friends and had good times getting drunk and fucked into 'oblivion'. Meanwhile, me and _my_ friends – Google, Leno on DVR, broadband, and Totinos Pizza Rolls – were sitting in my condo for the day cursing _the slut_.

Saturday night, I was lying on my sofa, flipping through pointless television, when the phone finally rang.

A relieved smile tugged at my lips, and momentarily startled me. I supposed I hadn't realized how panicked I'd been during the past two days, but now that I walk toward the phone, I realize that the thought of Jasper avoiding me indefinitely was an impossible notion.

"Hello." I answered the phone, and even I could hear the relief in my voice, though I tried to mask it as a yawn. Surprisingly, I was met with silence. My brows furrowed at the wall in front of me as I listened closely and could discern the faint sound of breathing on the other end. I listened for a moment before repeating myself, but was still met with only barely audible breathing and static. _Odd_.

"Jasper?" I hedged in a cautious whisper because no one else would be calling me on a Friday night, but the line abruptly clicked and went silent. I stared at the receiver for a moment before softly placing it back in its cradle with a 'click'.

Admittedly… it bewildered me, but I decided to chalk it up to a wrong number, returned to my languid lounging on the sofa, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

I could see my books on the desk across the room, and they beckoned to me. I just couldn't fathom wasting my time away on the sofa when there was still so much to be done. So much to accomplish. But I restrained myself because I didn't want to burn out, and I'd spent all week working my ass off, including my typically carefree Friday night.

I really fucking _needed_ this weekend.

I needed to be far away from those books and the computer and the notes that I doubted I took as thoroughly as I should have. I needed them to be out of reach so I could relax for a little while without thinking about it. And I couldn't do that without Jasper.

So I waited some more, stretching out across the leather sofa and curling my socked toes inward comfortably. There was nothing on TV, and I was getting drowsy by ten. I hadn't eaten dinner, so I popped a frozen pizza into the oven and waited for that to cook. Still, no call from Jasper.

I began wondering where he took this _girl_ of his on the weekend. I wondered if they went to Angel's and the thought infuriated me for some reason I couldn't comprehend. To imagine him sitting across from this _girl_ in _our_ booth when he had basically ditched me for her was staggeringly maddening.

I ate my pizza in solitude on my sofa, sparing my desk the occasional glance and grimacing at my lack of self control.

I waited until midnight before I realized Jasper wasn't going to call. I wondered if he was fucking her right then and if she offered him any kind of compelling conversation, or if she was just there for his shits and giggles. I wondered if they were one of those new and annoying couples that walked with their hands stuffed crudely into each other's back pockets. I wondered if they slept in the same bed and if he even cared that I was here, waiting for his call.

_Probably not._ Why should he?

With a sigh, I lifted myself off the sofa, passing my cluttered desk and narrowing my eyes sourly as I turned off every light in my apartment. Ever since Jasper's comment on Thursday morning, broadband porn had just lost its luster. One more thing he ruined.

Once I was in bed and under the cool and inviting sheets, the silver moonlight reflected off of the white walls of my room and accentuated… bare.

_Bare._

It looked bare. It _felt_ bare.

I mean, I really only spent eight hours per day in my bedroom, and most of that time was spent sleeping. I never felt the need to get fancy or acquire anything elaborate for it. It seemed so imprudent. Just a dresser, a bedside table, and my bed. Nothing else. The bare minimum.

It made me feel empty and vulnerable like when I walk across the crowded campus alone. It made me feel comfortable and orderly like mine and Jasper's synchronized footfalls. There was no possible reconciliation between the differing emotions, and I had no idea why I even felt the necessity to ponder something so fucking meaningless for an hour as I lay in bed alone.

I eventually shifted my attention to the muffled sound of passing cars on the street below my condo. Passing cars of people who had lives and people to lie in bed with. Passing cars of people who had places to go and people to see and shit to do on a Saturday night. People like Jasper and his stupid fucking _girl_.

All I had was the straining of my ears as I slipped into slumber, still vaguely listening for the shrill sound of a telephone that never came.

**~-*-~**

I probably could have called Jasper the following evening on my own, but I was a little pissed off at him. I had no idea why he was suddenly breaking our weekend rituals, but if it had anything to do with my comments at the gym, then he was just being petty and irrational. I couldn't wrap my head around his reaction, and I didn't understand why he refused to just talk to me like the twenty-two-year-old man he was.

My phone remained silent, the gym remained empty, and my nights remained solitary.

The next two weeks passed and I dove even further into my work, determined not to let it bother me. And that was really the problem. It _did_ bother me. Maybe a little more than it should. Maybe _much_ more than it should. I wanted to hang out with Jasper, let loose, and take a break from the shittiness known as my life for a couple nights a week, and this just pissed me off more: That I had somehow managed to become dependent on his companionship and easy going nature.

Then there was this _girl_, and thoughts of her ran rampant in my mind. It was just like a fucking girl to come into his life and muss everything up. Steal him away from his friends and interests while monopolizing his time for herself. I hated her, and I didn't even know this _girl_. I just knew that she had somehow managed to ruin our friendship.

I almost considered doing it myself.

One day I'd decided to sit with Ben and Angela again during lunch. I didn't have a reason, aside from a slight need to be in the company of someone else. They were both smiling and polite as they chatted about this and that. I really didn't have much to offer the conversation, so I picked at my muffin and studied my fingernails as I listened.

"So, Edward." Angela began hesitantly, peeking up at me through her lashes. I smiled and returned her gaze warmly. She was such a sweet girl. She cleared her throat and I could see Ben nudging her lightly in the ribs, in an encouragement of some sort. She giggled and rolled her eyes. "Well, I have this friend…" She trailed off with a suggestive grin, peeking at Ben and continuing at his nod. "Her name is Jessica, and she's been asking about you." She raised her eyebrows and I frowned down at my muffin. I could see where this was going. "I'm basically playing matchmaker here, and was wondering if you were… free? I mean, I've never seen you with anyone, but I didn't want to assume… you know?" She asked, seemingly losing her courage as she implied that I was alone.

I chuckled and smiled at her reassuringly. "I'm not dating anyone." I offered, and my stomach churned a bit as I pursed my lips in consideration of her friend's interest. On one hand, it would be good to go out with someone. It would make me feel less pathetic and if Jasper could do it, why couldn't I? On the other hand… the mere thought of having to entertain a _girl_ for an entire evening seemed exhausting to me. I'd have to be considerate and pretend to be interested in her topics of choice. I'd probably spend the whole night anxious to return home to my desk. Then, if by some miracle we did hit it off, she'd become a distraction from my work, and I was too close to the top to risk any such thing. I could wait until after graduation to indulge in anything so committal.

"But," I sighed in resignation. "I'm not really interested. Thanks for keeping me in mind though." I thanked her sincerely, and felt guilty when her hopeful expression faltered. She nodded in understanding and Ben swiftly changed the subject.

Angela spent the remainder of the hour glancing at me sideways in curiosity. I reasoned that perhaps I should have feigned a little more interest before shooting her down. Perhaps I should have inquired as to her appearance or attractiveness to seem less anti-social and awkward.

Thankfully, she never mentioned it again, and the week wore on as tedious as always.

**~-*-~**

It was a Friday night, and three had passed since Jasper had decided to completely cut me out of his life. I was accepting after so long. Disappointed, hurt, frustrated, and pathetically lonely, but… accepting. Friends come and go all the time, I reasoned. It shouldn't have bothered me so much, so I kept throwing myself into my studies to pass the time and distract myself from the pang of disappointment that consumed me.

Tonight, I was sitting at my desk and typing up a paper on the computer. It was due at the end of the semester and I had gotten an appalling head-start on it. I'd decided to make it double the length of everyone else's so it would stand out. It had been raining heavily all evening, and the rain battered at my living room window in a relaxing patter. I had the television on in the background with Leno softly resounding through the apartment. I sighed and began referencing a nearby textbook, shoving my pencil behind my ear in a common habitual gesture. In an hour, I'd be wondering where the hell I'd put it, and probably wouldn't remember until I caught my reflection in a mirror or window.

To my surprise, I suddenly heard a light thump on my door. I furrowed my brows in thought as I swiveled my chair in the direction of the sound. I hadn't ordered any food, and I couldn't think of anyone that would visit me on a Friday. _Unless…_

I rose from my seat, too skeptical to even complete that thought as I padded across the carpet in my bare feet. I put my eye to the peephole and peeked through it curiously. And there Jasper stood; running his hands through his soaked hair while he stared at his feet and rocked back on his heels. My lips curled up into a bright smile as I took a moment to simply stare at him. He looked nervous, and his gaze shifted the hall anxiously as he raised his fist and knocked once more.

I considered not answering just to make him feel something similar to what I'd been feeling over the past weeks. But I was bored, curious, anxious, excited, shamefully thrilled, and too damned impatient to draw it out. I unlatched the locks on the door and eased it open, trying desperately to suppress my grin as my gaze landed on him.

"Jasper." I sighed aloofly, leaning sideways into the door frame and crossing my arms over my chest in a completely false show of indifference.

He rubbed the back of his neck while fixing his gaze on his shoes. "Edward." He murmured with a small nod. I suddenly noticed that he was lightly shivering, likely from the fact that he was soaking wet and the temperature was nearly suitable for snow. Droplets of water fell from his hair, and made his trembling more apparent.

I huffed in annoyance as my concern eclipsed my desire for vengeance and I pushed off the door frame. "Come in?" I asked while stepping inside and holding the door open. He hesitated for a moment, glancing sideways down the hall, before shuffling in with his head down. He hadn't looked at me the entire time and it didn't escape my notice as I gently closed the door behind him. I pursed my lips at his back and raked my fingers through my hair in confusion. Maybe he and the _girl_ had experienced a quarrel. I frowned down at my shoes, mirroring his position as the thought simultaneously made me pleased and disappointed.

Without asking, I shuffled past him and traveled down the hall to my linen closet to procure a dry towel. When I returned, he was standing in the middle of the living room, dripping on my carpet and glancing around peculiarly with his hands shoved into his pockets.

In an effort to lighten the mood, I tossed the towel so that it covered his head, and I grinned as he stood motionless with it hanging from him like a drop cloth on a veiled statue. Slowly, he removed his hands from his pockets and pulled off the towel. His eyes finally fell upon me and his throat bobbed with a swallow.

"Thanks." He whispered without breaking my gaze and ran the towel through his hair.

I shrugged and wandered to the sofa, where I sunk deep into the leather and propped my bare foot up on the coffee table in front of it. I could feel his suddenly attentive gaze boring holes into the side of my face as he lowered himself to the position beside me.

There was a charged pause between us as we watched a few minutes of the late night talk show. I tried to keep the attention of my peripheral vision off of him, but I could feel his on me.

"I should probably apologize." He finally began, remorse and apprehension lacing his tone.

I snorted. "Trouble in paradise, huh? 'Jasper: The Best Campus Fuck in History' fan club one member less?" I teased as I met his gaze. His brows wrinkled while his hands were now softly drying his hair and neck with the towel. I simplified, "You and the new _girl_ on the outs?"

Understanding flashed in his eyes and he frowned. "That was just a one-time thing." He mumbled, shifting his gaze to his lap as the towel ruffled his hair.

"Oh." I replied lamely. That certainly threw me for a loop. Of course, he could have been lying, but I saw no reason why he would. Before I could properly process the information he began speaking again.

"I wanted to apologize for the gym and how I've been acting." He whispered in a quieter voice, finally meeting my gaze and resting the towel in his lap. I nodded slowly and watched as he angled his body toward me and stilled with one leg tucked beneath him. "I've just been going through some… personal issues that I've only recently come to terms with." He explained softly and pushed his hair behind his ear, appearing anxious once again.

I groaned in frustration over this "personal issue" that he couldn't talk to _me_ specifically about and raked my fingers through my hair. "Why won't you just fucking tell me? This is ridiculous." I rolled my eyes and shook my head in misunderstanding. It wasn't drugs, and it wasn't illegal. I couldn't comprehend what could be so awful or embarrassing if it wasn't related to performance issues.

His full lips pulled up into a rueful smile. "You'll be so damned repulsed if I told you, Edward." He chuckled darkly and shifted his gaze to his hands where they fidgeted with the fabric of the towel in his lap.

I was slightly offended by his insulation. "I already told you, you can tell me anything. We're supposed to be friends." I narrowed my eyes at him accusingly. He was the one blocking _me_ out, after all. I'd help if he'd only let me.

His face contorted into a grimace and he rested his elbow on the back of the sofa and began biting the fingernail on his middle finger. His gaze shifted around the room uncertainly. His eyes were conflicted and his knee began to jerk up and down anxiously.

He was considering telling me.

I was shamefully eager, having had zero excitement for the entire month, and I pivoted my body towards his to mimic his pose with the most serious expression I could manage. When his gaze once again met mine, the pure and unadulterated fright in his eyes startled me.

He looked downright terrified as he removed his nails from his mouth and used his hand to rub his jaw. "Promise me you won't hate me." He requested in a trembling voice that competed with the fear that emanated from his gaze.

I felt a twinge in my chest, and my anxiety over this confession grew. "I promise, I won't hate you." I reassured him and leaned forward in anticipation. His eyes searched mine for many moments, and the stare grew so intense that it made my pulse accelerate erratically in my chest. I urged him with eyes to just say it and accentuated it with a minor nod of encouragement.

Jasper exhaled a gusty sigh and stilled his knee and fingertips, eyes wide and shining and disturbingly vulnerable. The muscles beneath the stippled flesh of his jaw twitched as it clenched. He lifted his hand to push his hair behind his ear again, but then seemed to reach out to my face, his hand lingering in the air between us uncertainly. I tilted my head quizzically as it came closer, but before I could question him, his fingers were being buried into my hair. The pencil behind my ear tumbled to the carpet unceremoniously; his eyes remaining wide and fearful as he swiftly leaned forward and pulled my face to his.

I was paralyzed as his lips met mine and my mind went entirely and rather inconveniently blank. His lips were firm, cold, dry, and unmoving against mine for a moment. I could only watch as his eyelids fluttered closed, but mine remained open from the stunned paralysis. Leisurely, his lips parted and began moving, gently puckering and drawing mine between his in the most foreign way. The breath from his nose bathed my face in warmth and began gradually increasing into longer exhales as I watched his damp eyelashes twitch. His fingers in my hair wrapped around the back of my head and pulled my face closer, even though I was clearly unresponsive.

If I thought I had reached the maximum level of astonishment possible, I was being proven wrong when Jasper then began shifting his body onto his knees atop the squeaky leather without breaking the contact of our lips, moving closer to me with rigid and indecisive movements. I could feel a cold droplet of water from his wet hair hit my hand where it sat lifeless in my lap as his new position forced his hand to tilt my face upward. It did nothing to stir me from my stupefaction.

His breaths came harder and his lips began moving with more confidence. He brushed his mouth against mine from side to side, nudging my lips with his as I sat motionless and too disoriented to protest. He pulled my bottom lip between his and released it before repeating the action once more.

His breaths grew so labored that he was panting loudly against my nose as it pressed softly against mine. I subsequently began noticing the tremble of his hand against my scalp, the quiver of his breath against my skin, and the quaking of the leather between us that was emanating from his knees. Color stained the flesh of his cheeks when the movement of his lips slowed, and grew doubtful and hesitant.

He stilled his mouth against mine and pulled away infinitesimally. When his eyelids slowly fluttered open, I was bewildered even further by the pure darkness of lust that penetrated them. His eyes gradually rose to meet mine, and the lustful glaze transformed first into dejection, and then fear, and then panic as he jerked his hand away and scrambled off the sofa.

"I'm sorry, I just-" He choked and ran his fingers through his hair before clenching one fist into his blonde tresses and squeezing his eyes closed. "I fucking told you that you'd be repulsed, Edward. _Shit_." He cursed in a hiss and turned his back on me.

I was still recovering from the numbing paralysis minutes later when I slowly shook my head. "I'm just… surprised." My voice responded in a barely audible breath. I watched his back rise and fall with his heavy huffs. Automatically, my mind made my lips move to add the instinctive caveat, "I'm not… like that." Because, I really wasn't.

He suddenly turned to me without meeting my gaze, and his bottom lip quivered as he withdrew it from between his teeth. "Look, if you still want to hang out, I'll be cool and I promise not to pull any shit like that again. If you don't, then I'll completely understand."

Before I could respond, he was loping to the door and quickly flung it open, shutting it behind him as he exited. I sat on the sofa for so long that the rain had ceased its patter against my window and infomercials began appearing on the television in the background. My mind gradually released me from the blank and numbed state of astonishment, and I was assaulted with a barrage of thoughts.

I was left with many confounding questions as I stared blankly at the spot he once occupied on the sofa in front of me.

Was Jasper gay? How long had he been into guys? Was he interested in _me, _or was the kiss merely meant for demonstrative purposes? Did sexual orientation matter to me when it came to friends? Would it change things? What did it mean?

But all of those questions were surpassed by the significance of another question that was roaring so loudly inside of my mind that I couldn't hear the television.

If I wasn't 'like that', then why was my dick so excruciatingly hard?

* * *

**A.N. **Thanks so much for reading! Comments, questions, feedback, witty banter, meaningless mockery, humorous rhetoric, slash rants, plot ridicule, criticism of any sort, and anything else you can type into that little review box thingy are oh so greatly appreciated!

**As a timid caveat:** I do not in any way intend to offend any group of people with this story. I'm aware that sexual orientation is a very sensitive subject, and I plan to treat it with the respect it deserves. I also very much wish to paint this story and characters in a realistic light, so if at any time there are suggestions made against homosexuality over the course of this story, please know that these are far from my personal feelings on the matter, and I'm only attempting to convey the issues that may arise in the process of one discovering his sexuality in the face of adversity. I can only hope to do it justice without offending anyone in the process. My research is limited to psychological digests, personal accounts, medical references, and stories I have read along the way.

Thanks again for taking the time to read!


	2. The Flaw

**A/N: **Oh no! I'm one of those annoying slow updater people! Heh. Not really. Well, really yes, but not anymore! Thanks to my beta. You know who you are, and you rock! ;)

I was totally staggered at the awe-inspiring response Chapter 1 received. Really, I never expected anything of the sort, so my humble thanks for all of the wonderful feedback and interest. I am also forever in debt to the fanfiction related blogs who've made mention of ETO! Thanks for spreading the word and making it worth it.

I promise to try to update sooner. Chapter 3 is already completed. I'm just going to space them out a couple days or so.

As a note that I doubt anyone will care about, I forgot my email password and had to change accounts for this site. As a result, I probably lost any PMs that were sent before the PM system overhaul. ~frowns~

Also, a little celebration for NH's passing of gay marriage!

**

* * *

Chapter 2: The Flaw  
**~-*-~

There was a lone spot on my ceiling that stared down at me obnoxiously as my fingers twitched. It was a black dot on a perfect, pristine sheet of white. It gnawed at me in the corner of my consciousness, in the same way I'd sit in class and grow nervous that I'd left the coffee pot on. I couldn't tear my eyes away from it. Maybe it had always been there, my silent guardian as I slumbered beneath it, a possessor of every detail of my sleeping form. Perhaps it had always been a constant onyx-star above me, but I'd only noticed it last night.

_I didn't do it._

My mind kept echoing with relief that I hadn't. I let it calm me as I stared at my speckled witness above. It was semi-effective, my mind focused on this hidden blemish that made my skin itch. My shirt collar scratched at my collarbones. My pants dug into my waist. My socks (_always _sleep with socks) were embedded into my ankles. I felt wide and plump, sinking into my mattress while my eyes fixed on the dot, blurring and stinging.

_I didn't do it. _

The traffic below was only a sporadic hum, the streets abandoned as the sun was only just beginning to rise. People in their beds stretched like felines as their alarms clocks remained Saturday-dormant, and my eyes blazed in the darkness of my bedroom. I stared at the lone flaw, committing its detail to memory (_approximately ten inches from the light socket) _and I felt accomplished that it hadn't seen _that_. To this lone dot, it appeared as though everything were normal.

_I didn't do it._

I could almost hear the click as the alarm clock at my side shifted from five-fifty-nine to six, but for some reason, I still flinched at the shrill disturbance it made. My palm made contact with buttons, slapping clumsily as it searched for the correct one. For four years I'd owned the same clock, same brand, with the same buttons. It still took me ten seconds every morning to disarm it.

_I didn't fucking do it._

I rose from bed and ignored the accusing stare from above as I stalked out of my dark bedroom.

I didn't jack-off to the memory of Jasper's kiss last night.

_Even though I really wanted to._

~-*-~

It made sense to be nervous, given the circumstance. What exactly does one say in this position? Everything sounded ridiculous and blunt. "_I know you kissed me and made everything between us confusing and awkward, but you wanna meet for lunch and forget it ever happened?" _

No. That wouldn't do. The truth was—there were no words that could be said. No ultimate fix existed. I either dialed his number or hung up the phone to lock him away in that distant mental chest reserved for lost friends, exes, and acquaintances that never became more.

I couldn't do that.

Jasper was my only friend, and this fact made me furious at him. If he would have never… everything could be _normal _and_ perfect_. Instead he had to take this enormous risk, and it had been upsetting me for hours. Did our friendship really mean so little to him? Was it so easy to take the leap and simply… accept any consequence? Was he willing to be so reckless with something so significant? Didn't it mean anything?

Rationally, I realized that he'd been brave in his deeds the previous evening—had been ballsy to be so forward with me. Then I realized that I just acknowledged his balls. Then I squeezed my eyes closed and shook my head to rid it of related thoughts. The harder I strove to _not_ think about certain things, the more likely I _was_ to think about certain things. It was a vicious circle, my mind the enemy.

But I had to try salvaging something. I'd spent the last weeks depressed and alone in my apartment, hoping for his call, wishing he'd let me in. And he had. It was what I'd been wanting and now the ball was in my court. _Ball…_ I groaned, curling my fingers around the plastic receiver.

Aside from my obvious desire to save our friendship, I wasn't a homophobe. Pushing Jasper away would make me seem like it, which was unacceptable. I prided myself on my liberal values—a stark contrast to my conservative upbringing. I was pro-choice. I silently rallied for the legalization of marijuana and gay civil unions. I voted for Obama, goddammit.

My fingers dialed the numbers with unnecessary force, smacking the plastic with my boney fingertips as if they were to blame for all of this… disorder. After I had I had dialed the last number, I was dangerously close to hanging up. My chest fluttered with anxiety, my stomach clenching in unease. I just had to get it over with, I decided. I could be ballsy too.

The rings were succinct and sharp. First one, then two, then three, then a soft click. My ears prickled and buzzed. "Speak." Emmett's voice rang loudly over the earpiece, rattling me.

Relieved at the delay, I inquired, "Do you always answer your phone like it's a dog?" I chuckled nervously, feeling more transparent by the second.

"Do you always greet people by asking questions?" he asked, seemingly distracted as shifting was made evident. Before I could answer, he swiftly added, "Jasper'll be here in a second. He's too occupied with being a moody bitch to bother with– hey!" His voice grew distant as sounds of clanking and static emanated from the receiver.

"Rose?" Jasper's annoyed voice lilted through the phone and my breathing stuttered.

I fiddled with a nearby takeout napkin, trying to seem distracted and aloof. "No, it's just me," I replied casually. _Too casually_. My finger stabbed through the thin paper of the napkin, leaving a ragged tear.

His intake of breath was like a gentle whisper, his stunned pause growing. "Uh, hey," he eventually muttered, his voice lowered considerably as it cracked. Air moved through the microphone as sounds of closing doors followed. "How's it going?" he whispered cautiously, surprise lacing his voice.

_How's it going?_

I sigh, realizing that he was feeling me out, letting me lead. All the better. "I'm fine. Was just hanging out, watching some extreme cheerleader thing on ESPN and a Burger King commercial came on. Now I'm starving."

Another nervous chuckle. _Definitely transparent_.

Jasper's behavior that day in the gym now made sense to me. I wanted to slip in subtle hints that I was into women and ended up lying about something stupid like watching extreme cheerleading—which I wasn't certain even existed.

_That probably makes me look gayer…_

"Oh," he breathed a brief pause. "Do you… I mean, d-did you want to go out, or –"

"Yeah, just lunch," I cut in tersely. It was now painfully obvious that I had to emphasize that. _Just lunch_. My frustration swelled. It had once been so routine and normal for me to call him for lunch. Now I had to make certain it wasn't being misread as a… date.

He breathed through the phone and my neck felt ablaze as I focused on the soft hiss. Eventually, he replied in an even voice, "Angel's in twenty?"

"Sounds good," I said and quickly returned the phone to its cradle. I glanced down at the takeout napkin, finding it shredded and lying in a destroyed heap. I ground my teeth angrily.

Thirty minutes later, I walked through the door of the small restaurant, inwardly pleased that I'd spent fifteen minutes waiting before I'd left my apartment. Arriving later than him made me seem busy, occupied, interested enough to show up, but not so interested that I seemed eager. My every thought was directed at my own demeanor. My posture was confident and informal. I made it a point to make little movements—swiping at my hem, sniffing my nose, lolling my head back lazily. My eyes followed any woman between the ages of seventeen and forty.

I probably looked like a complete jackass.

He was already at our booth when I arrived, the top of his blonde hair peeking over the back as I sauntered casually to him. I slid into the booth without even sparing him a glance, battling to maintain my calmness as I swung my arm over the back of my seat, tapping the leather with my finger.

My gaze wandered the space, struggling to find something of interest as I sighed, "I think we're probably paying Angela's tuition with as much as we eat here." The flourishes in the wallpaper were endlessly intriguing, but my periphery still studied him fuzzily.

He had a menu in his hands, his head dipped as if he were reading, which made no sense to me whatsoever. He wouldn't deviate from his usual order. He was simply trying to look occupied, like me. "I was surprised you called," he admitted in a guarded voice.

I shifted my gaze to him, and amongst the tension and fear that fogged my better judgment, I discovered that I shouldn't have. He looked the same. His wavy hair still grazed the bottom of his earlobes, framing his face as it fell against his cheeks. His nose was straight, his eyelashes thick and long, and his eyebrows shaped in perfect, furrowed arches. His skin looked soft and pale, no blemishes visible to taint the pristine expanses of white.

His lips were full and soft.

I gulped and tried to look away, tried to ignore that I was actually noticing these little things that hadn't mattered before. But I couldn't. His eyes were fixed on the menu in his hands, brow softly creased as his subtle bounce gave away the bob of his foot below the table. I inspected his hands, white-knuckled as he gripped the plastic-covered menu almost aggressively. It was surreal to see them and know they had been buried in my hair not even eleven hours ago.

I was eventually drawn to the purple beneath his drooping eyes that indicated exhaustion and wondered if he'd slept.

I suddenly felt awful for being so analytical of myself, arrogant, and failing to realize how terribly difficult this must be for him as well. "You were expecting Rose?" I asked, allowing my ridiculous façade of indifference to dissipate as my concern burgeoned.

His sheepish, tired eyes rose to mine from beneath his lashes, his leg stilling as he offered a measured nod. "My dad's in the hospital," he sighed, his shoulders slumping as he lowered the menu. "She's been bugging me about going home for a few days." As he said this, his eyes crinkled at the edges, narrowing with a sharp huff.

"What happened?" I asked softly, but alarmed. I knew Jasper and his father were closer than me and my own. They spoke at least once a week, usually more. It was always difficult for me to comprehend why they would.

Two fingers went to his temple and massaged gently as he shifted his gaze to the table. "Heart attack. They're deciding on whether or not to do bypass this week," he mumbled with a pained expression, eyes darkening.

_Yes_, I decide. _I am an utter ass._

"I'm sorry," I offered quietly, guilt flooding my chest in heavy waves. I'd been focused on something so trivial when he was clearly in need of a friend—something that I'd been silently proud of being so proficient at all morning long.

He shrugged and attempted a smile, one corner of his lips tugging up forcedly. "Not your fault. " He glanced up at me and eased against the booth at his back, releasing a cleansing sigh. "It's nice to have a distraction that doesn't involve watching Emmett modify his X-Box. I think he's going to be in for a treat when he plugs it in again and it doesn't work." He laughed, his chest bouncing as his eyes brightened minimally.

I return his chuckle, relieved that we could regain some normalcy amidst the awkwardness mingled with dismay. The waitress arrived at our table to take our orders—_which were the same as always_—and patted Jasper on the head affectionately before leaving. He always gave off vibes with his moods, making it obvious whenever he was anxious or troubled.

I'd almost forgotten how this trait in him made him blunt.

"I wasn't expecting you to ever talk to me again," he said remorsefully while avoiding my stunned gaze. His thumbs rotated against one another as he clasped his hands on the table. It had never been in his nature to shove things thing away and deny them. He'd always been better at confronting issues head-on, determined to find resolution in all things. This was what made him perfect for his chosen profession.

And really shitty at being the guy that had just kissed his best friend.

My brows fell in annoyance. I hadn't wanted to do things in this manner. I'd wanted to spend a few days or weeks or months—preferably years—feeling as though his actions couldn't completely fracture our friendship. I leaned forward, suddenly aware of every presence in the vicinity. "You really think I'm _that_ narrow-minded?" I hissed, offended that he'd assume such things about me—that he'd think I valued our friendship so little.

His eyes jumped to mine, absorbing my insulted expression, and widened. "I wasn't implying that you were. I just…" He paused and shifted his eyes around, leaning closer to me over the table to whisper, his lips fluttering gently. "It's different when it's _you._ I understand that." He gazed into my eyes with sincerity and sadness, a hard frown pulling at his lips.

I had only just barely managed to not appear as though I was staring at his mouth. "Are you gay?" I blurted, incapable of doing anything else.

Just as the words had slipped through my lips, the waitress arrived with our drinks.

Jasper, who'd gone rigid, remained over the table as I lurched back, trying to put a friendlier distance between us. The waitress thinned her eyes while she lowered the drinks, walking away with a suspicious glance in our direction.

"See?" he muttered, still slouched over the space between us as I pressed my back into the booth. His lips were furled into a dry purse, head shaking. "If we'd been sitting like that two days ago, you wouldn't have—" his voice cracked as he slowly eased back and looked away. The tinge of hurt in his eyes made me feel… I wasn't sure what it made me feel, but I couldn't deny that he was likely correct. Before I had the opportunity to express my regret, he locked his jaw and looked me in the eyes unapologetically. "I'm gay, I'm not a leper," he confirmed dully, a hint of bitterness. He drank from his straw and looked as though he'd just admitted to something as simple as changing classes.

I was astonished. Even though he'd kissed me, hearing the words still came as a shock. I'd pondered him being bisexual perhaps, or maybe—in my infinite narcissism—thought that maybe I was the only man he'd ever been interested in kissing. But to hear him actually label himself so… confidently was a little shocking.

I found myself shamefully wanting to know the private details of his verbiage. I wanted to know what made him gay. Was it simply liking other men, or was it similar to a gang in which you had to hit someone to gain your street-cred? And was he? "Hitting" other men? Did I want to know? Was him having a boyfriend any better than him having a girlfriend? What man possibly needed two in his life? Wasn't it a little worse? Where did I fit in? My mind raced with a million sudden questions as I stared into my glass, bubbles of carbonation exploding on the ice at the surface.

Being the intuitive individual Jasper had always been, he abruptly noted in a pleasantly surprised voice, "You're curious."

My eyebrows shot up as I met his gaze. "Huh?" I asked dumbly.

His eyebrows rose as he scrutinized me, tilting his head. "You're curious. I can always tell when you're curious because you get this little pout…" he trailed off into a semi-whimsical voice before pausing, ducking his head timidly.

I tried not to let it bother me that he noticed something like that. I tried to compare it to the way I knew when he disagreed with something, but this only made me _more _uncomfortable. It wasn't right for two friends to be so attuned to one another's facial expression. It wasn't right for two guys to notice pouts and creases of others.

Eager to disengage that train of thought, I rubbed my neck and tentatively admitted, "I guess, a little?"

Peeking up at me through his lashes, he requested brightly, "Ask me something."

I shifted my weight with a grimace, lying, "I don't want to be intrusive." Really, I didn't mind being intrusive. It wasn't like I was going to _kiss him_ or anything. _That_ would be intrusive. Honestly, I just didn't like the thought of him changing my impression of the Jasper I'd always known. I felt as though I was grasping wildly for a speck of white normalcy amidst an ocean of black oblivion.

Shaking his head, he raised his chin, tucking his hair behind his ear. I nearly choked on my drink as I focused on the small mannerism that I'd noticed the night previous. His fingers curled around his earlobe, his head inclining as the opposing half of his hair fell over his eyes. "I feel guilty for hiding it, so it'd make me feel better if you did," he sighed remorsefully, pleading with his drooping gaze.

Ultimately relenting, I wasn't really sure what to ask first. I wasn't even sure what was acceptable or P.C. I settled on, "Who knows?"

Without meeting my gaze, he replied, "Just you."

"Just me?" I ask in surprise and… relief. I was relieved that he hadn't come out on campus, and if I were being honest with myself, it stemmed from concern for myself. Of being seen with him. Of being known as his best friend. Of being perceived as 'gay by association.'

He shrugged as he explained, "It's not exactly the best time. For my family, you know?"

He peeked up at me, and I nodded, asking. "How long have _you_ known?" His eyes flashed in a quick panic before clearing, a hard, emotionless mask covering his face. Afraid that I had crossed some line, I assured, "You don't have to tell me."

He seemed to have shaken off his momentary distress as his expression eased. He dropped his gaze, his hair falling from behind his ear as he murmured, "Not very long."

Just then, the wafting scent of Italian food reached our nostrils. The waitress deposited our plates and offered us both a wide smile as she scampered off, likely having realized that we weren't in the mood for our usual conversation and banter today.

We began eating slowly, him casting me cautious glances from beneath his eyelashes, and me, thoughtful. I knew what I wanted to ask, but wasn't certain I wanted to know.

I realized that it would gnaw at me if I didn't. I knew that failing to inquire would leave me broadsided in the future, were it to occur. Still, I had to squeeze out the question like frozen toothpaste, focused intently on my linguini as it curled around my fork. "Have you been… seeing people?"

There was only the soft clank of a fork against dinnerware as a pause grew. Eventually, he whispered, "Not yet." His answer made my confusion grow. I wondered how he could be so certain if he'd never been with another man. Sensing my confusion, we both looked up at the same time, gazes locking. A faint tinge of pink spread across his cheekbones, outward from his ears as he muttered feebly, "You were my first… attempt."

I raised my eyebrows in realization, feeling distinctive warmth climb my neck as I swallowed. "Oh."

I was his first attempt. His first man-kiss. Surprisingly, my first emotion upon learning this wasn't embarrassment or disgust. It was satisfaction, and it took two enormous forkfuls of linguini to halt the grin that battled to emerge. It was a stupid, stupid response, and even though I could easily chalk it up to pride or conceit, I think deep down I knew better.

I was flattered.

I assured myself that my next question was merely to get us back on track. To confirm how he'd discovered he wanted to bat for the other team. My lips were nowhere near a curious pout as I asked, "And you… well, you liked it?" I stabbed at my noodles and shoved them into my mouth, incredulous and a little disgusted that I wanted him to flatter me further. I could see him frozen from my periphery, his fork lingering in the air as the silence drew on. The warmth of my neck festered to a stifling heat.

After a moment, I could discern his hesitant nod, the silence between us thick and awkward as we both swallowed loudly. "And you…" he faded, a silent inquiry that I know all-too-well about being too nervous to ask.

The fleck of hope inflected in his tone crushed me. I'd been rationalizing my reaction to it for so long that I'd come up with enough valid excuses to placate _myself_: I didn't like it, my dick did.

But my dick liked all kinds of things. The wind could blow the wrong direction some days and I'd get hard. It was just the moment, nothing else. My dick also liked tits and petite waists and round asses and pigtails and school-girl skirts. It was an unpredictable little shit. It fucked with my head, but it didn't dictate my preferences. It didn't mean that I liked it.

But I knew that excuse was just that—an excuse. Something I used to justify my bodily reactions. Realistically, I knew I was full of shit because it didn't explain other things—like how it was so difficult not to stare at his lips when he licked the sauce from them. It didn't explain the stomach fluttering, or the heart stuttering, or the terrifyingly _wrong_ things that went through my head. So, I did what any other straight guy would do in this situation.

I panicked and lied through my fucking teeth, "No."

I met his gaze and already knew what I'd see there, but it didn't make seeing it any easier. Disappointment saturated every hue of his wide and vulnerable eyes. It seeped down his face, pulling his lips with its crippling descent. My words had far more impact than I'd expected, his eyes shifting to his plate of food, crestfallen and briefly agonized. It was almost physically painful to witness and my chest ached… a little more than appropriate. Apparently, that was my new, signature thing.

"I'm sorry," I croaked, taking a large gulp of my drink to dislodge the lump that had formed in my throat.

I kept telling myself he'd find someone else and we could laugh about this one day. My chest felt hollow, my throat dry, my head throbbed. I didn't want him to find anyone else, I realized. And I couldn't offer him anything in return but my friendly debates and late-night philosophies. He deserved more, but I didn't want him to have it. I felt too much relief when I considered how much this entire first-experience would ruin his confidence for future 'attempts.'

I'd never felt as vile as I did when I watched him clear his throat, rearranging his fleetingly heartbroken expression into one of flippancy.

He forced a breathy, artificial chuckle. "Nothing to apologize for. Worth a try, right?" He shrugged his rigid shoulders, lips pressed into a tight, false grin.

But it hadn't been worth his try at all. I felt like a waste of humanity, because I couldn't even admit to liking it—_the least little heterosexual bit—_if for no other reason than to lessen the sting of rejection. Flatter him as he'd flattered me. I knew he deserved it. Even worse was that I knew my admission would lift his spirits when he so obviously needed it. Coming out and being rejected while his father lay in a hospital across the country had likely made this day one of his worst, ever. All I had to do was open my mouth and admit that… I liked it, but wasn't ready to explore why, and doubted I ever would be. Jasper would understand, I was certain. He'd be flattered. He'd smile.

Despicably, all I could manage was a strained, "Are we cool?" I extended my hand over the table in offering and he stared at it, his eyes inspecting my hand with care, exhaustion, and… defeated acceptance.

He raised his hand and grabbed mine in a firm shake. "Always," he scoffed, dismissing my guilt with a roll of his eyes and an easy smile that I knew better than to believe.

We spent the rest of lunch discussing his father's possible surgery—a topic that he was suddenly okay with speaking about. Ultimately, we settled into our routine dynamic and were able to debate the pros and cons of the cabbage procedure, the likelihood of it being double bypass, and why it was fortunate that he'd be going on a pump oxygenator to circulate his blood while his heart was stopped. When I spoke of his father being technically dead for the procedure, Jasper became particularly troubled. I gave him as much information as I could offer and hoped that it helped ease his anxiety.

When we finally left an hour later, we went our separate ways with cordial waves, just like we normally would after lunch. I took the same road I normally took to my apartment. I walked into my normal condo and slouched against my normal sofa.

Images of twitching eyelashes and full lips seared my brain as I contacted the leather, covering my face with the same hand that had made contact with his cold and clammy palm.

I felt like a monster.

~-*-~

The week following was torment. Jasper stayed home the entire weekend to await message from his sister on his dad's condition. My all-consuming guilt had driven me to call him periodically for updates. I didn't know if he was getting suspicious of my constant contact, but if it bothered him, he never made it known.

I couldn't get the images of lips and eyelashes out of my mind. It was becoming disturbing and began worrying me more than I'd think possible. It didn't take long for the images to bloom, my mind a fierce and visual entity that craved the details of pale skin and dimples. I'd shove the heels of my palms into my eyes and shake my head angrily, working feverishly to dispel the haunting representations of my best friend.

I almost asked my fat neighbor for her phone number.

When I went back to classes on Monday, my bitter mood toward myself amplified to alarming degrees. I'd never noticed it before, but couples littered the campus everywhere. They sat in disgusting poses against trees, sucking face and crudely displaying affection in inappropriate fashions. It wasn't something I ever personally desired. I couldn't comprehend the need for something that was such a blatant distraction from the primary reason we'd come to school in the first place. But Jasper… he could _be_ one of those people smiling and walking through the doors with his hand tucked in someone's back pocket—male _or_ female. Unfortunately, he had to attempt it with someone who couldn't return that need.

Then I began wondering what it was Jasper actually wanted. Was he interested in a relationship, or was he just curious and horny? Most importantly, which was the worse alternative? I couldn't decide, and I began envisaging appalling things as I sat in Chemistry that afternoon.

I imagined him going out to local night clubs and bars, scouring the scene to find _willing _men who wouldn't reject him or deny how much they desired his lips. I could see him finding some handsome man and kissing him as he'd kissed me. But the other man wouldn't just sit on his sofa rigid and scared shitless. The other man'd probably take him back to his place and kiss him back. Use him. Fuck him.

The thought terrified me so much that I raced home that evening and immediately called Jasper's number, more relieved than I should have been when he assured me he'd be staying in all evening.

We dodged awkward topics and stuck to those involving the possible surgery and Emmett's inappropriate interest in chatting with Rosalie when she'd call.

"She asked me for a picture again," he groaned that night. "Don't get me wrong. I like Emmett and all, just not in a 'I permit you to bone my twin sister' sort of way. The whole thing's startin' to piss me off. I'm going to have to put my foot down soon."

Jasper was one of those protective brothers who had absolutely nothing to protect. It was well known in his family that Rosalie wore the pants in every relationship, their parents' included. She studied in Texas, choosing to stay close to her family while still managing to get a full scholarship to one of the best universities in the country. She definitely didn't need Jasper looking out for her best interest, but I waged that she found his efforts rather endearing.

That night, as I hung up with Jasper, a genius idea struck me. It was so fucking perfect. I didn't know how I hadn't thought of it earlier.

I went online and found a photo of Rosalie on the Texas A&M University website. She really was exquisitely beautiful, one of those women who intimidated people by demeanor alone. Her brilliant blonde hair was almost hip length and board straight. It was one difference, but I was almost certain she had to style it straight. It was probably naturally wavy like Jasper's. Her face was also much like his. She even had his dimples and that intense stare.

_Twins._

She was someone I could look at and get aroused by without feeling this… shame and disgust with myself. She was a flawless cure for my sickness, the answer to my inner prayers. She was Jasper with tits and a vag.

And what nice tits they were, too. Her waist was petite. She was tall. Her lips were full and pouty. Long eyelashes, long legs, milky skin—you name it, she had it. She was every straight man's wet dream. And her personality was a force a nature, too. She was bold and confident, exuding grace everywhere she went. It was impossible to not be drawn to her. She was effortlessly seductive.

I smiled and leaned back in my swiveling computer chair while staring at her perfect picture. I tried to imagine her naked, spread across my bed, and waiting for me. I imagined my palms on her voluptuous breasts, sucking them, and burying my face into the valley in-between. I closed my eyes and stroked myself to the fantasy of her. I envisioned her lips around my dick, sucking and licking as I curled my fingers into her silky hair to guide her. I visualized her face as I penetrated her wet pussy, pounding into her while bathing in her moans—no, not moans, but_ shrieks_—shrieks of pleasure. She'd cry my name and throw that beautiful head of blonde hair back, grabbing that ledge on my headboard while I pleased her mercilessly, back arched to my sweaty chest. She'd be tight too. Really tight. Tight and wet and hot and tits bouncing in my…

I couldn't remember ever being so limp.

With an annoyed groan, I stopped stroking myself and closed out the browser. I could imagine taking Rosalie out to a really nice, expensive restaurant, and maybe taking her back to my place, but… I couldn't imagine going any further. There wasn't a pull to Rosalie. Maybe being close to Jasper for so long made it difficult for me to see her as something less-than-sisterly. At least, this was what I kept telling myself. I reasoned that it was for the best anyways. I couldn't imagine seeing Jasper's reaction to being rejected for his sister_. _

This had mollified me for a couple days.

Then the dreams came.

They weren't necessarily illicit or even really erotic. Usually it'd just be Jasper and I walking through the park and talking. I'd zero in on his lips as they moved around syllables, forming and curling while his tongue flicked his teeth in emphasis. I'd be so lost in the movement that I wouldn't hear what he was saying. Then, when I finally looked up to his face, it was pained and agonized, the meaning of his words lost in the wind as he turned away from me.

I'd wake up sweating, that same black dot staring down at me as I heaved sharp breaths.

It was Wednesday that I finally decided I had to do something about it. I still had forty minutes left before my next class started, and I knew exactly who I needed to see to find some resolution for my problem—sooner rather than later. The drive only took ten minutes from the campus, tires crunching under the gravel as I reached my destination. I sat back in my seat for an immeasurable period of time before working up the nerve to exit.

There's something to be said for true professionals. They keep their business-related dealings separate from the complications of personal obstacles and morals. They can easily justify what they do with one singular phrase that will excuse just about anything: "It's just business." Professionals are clean, simple, cut and dry, and straightforward. You always know what you're getting and are rarely incapable of predicting related outcomes.

I walked up the steps to the door of the immense Victorian manor, peeking over my shoulder in suspicion as my hand went to the buzzer beside the giant wooden door. I could detect the mechanical sounds of cameras being shifted in my direction and it made me skittish. I took a deep breath, steeling my nerves and trying to keep my cool considering my present whereabouts.

A hissing buzz finally greeted me from the speaker near my right, and I flinched. "Name," the lilting feminine voice requested, and I answered as composedly as possible, "Masen."

After only a moment, I heard a mechanical click on the door before me, signifying apparent permission to enter freely. I had a brief moment of doubt about entering before I rolled my eyes and turned the heavy ornate knob.

The foyer was grand and overly elegant, with a marble staircase in direct view of the entrance. My head turned toward the tell-tale clicking of heeled shoes and I was greeted by a gorgeous and rather busty, young Asian woman in a black dress.

_Fake_, I concluded.

Her calculating, dark eyes raked over my form after she stopped before me, making me slightly uncomfortable as I shifted. Her lips turned up into a seductive smirk. "Tanya says you're to see her first," she sighed in something akin to disappointment and wrapped her delicate fingers around my arm. I swallowed nervously as she led me up the winding staircase, her shoes clicking twice as fast and hard as the soft clunking of my own shoes.

My eyes wandered the large, luxurious and fabric-covered spaces as we reached the second floor. The numerous doors lining the halls greeted me with silent condemnation as we passed. I'd never felt so out of place in my entire life. I imagined the hundreds of men that had walked this exact path and it made my stomach churn with disgust. I wondered, as the Asian woman's hand tugged me further into decadence, how many lives had been ruined as a result of time spent in this house.

At the end of the third hall we ascended to, we finally came upon a large and obnoxiously ornate golden door. I rolled my eyes, amusing the woman attached to my arm with my vexation over Tanya's obvious extravagance. When we approached the golden entrance, the woman released my arm and clicked away without further instruction.

I gaped at her retreating back. Literally. Her back was completely bare in that dress, swooping down to her tailbone and just barely concealing anything inappropriate. As I was fretfully considering how to proceed, the golden door before me opened, sending a wave of perfume smacking right into my face.

I stifled my grimace as I met Tanya's excited gaze and smiled. "Tanya," I nodded, cursing the tremble of my voice.

Her smile widened as she boldly embraced me. "What a pleasant surprise!" she exclaimed in jubilation, and my nostrils flared at her pungent proximity as I awkwardly returned her hug.

Before she released me, one of her hands slid down to gently cup my ass. I jumped, eliciting a breathy chuckle from the strawberry blonde before me.

She finally took my hand and pulled me forward into her room. I was taken aback by the scene that greeted me.

An office.

Not a bedroom. _Huh_.

But of course, I should have expected it. Tanya was a professional, and that was the reason I'd chosen her specifically to contact about my… uncomfortable situation. I knew she wouldn't be squeamish or judgmental because of her profession.

By profession, I mean madam.

Tanya had discovered me during my sophomore year. She'd looked up the best and brightest medical scholars and had chosen me specifically to approach regarding one of her… employee's delicate ailments. By employee, I mean whore. By delicate ailment, I mean Chlamydia.

She'd been embarrassed because she'd rarely had any type of similar incidents with her women arise. She'd insisted that everything was always perfectly safe and clean and this had been the result of a careless client. She'd been enraged that her "establishment's" reputation might have become compromised. This is why she always chose to ask medical students for their assistance and used their means of procuring medication with no paper trails. I'd had a difficult time explaining that I lacked access to those types of resources.

She bartered students' services for hers. Being the sex-crazed college boys that we were, she was never declined and always managed to coax them into finding ways in which to make the medication accessible.

Well, except in one case.

"Mr. Masen, to what do I owe this pleasure?" She purred, taking a seat behind a modern desk and gesturing to the seat in front of it. She asked as I sat, "Have you reconsidered my offer? It was quite some time ago, and we _have_ managed to find other accommodations, but I do think that exceptions can be—"

I cut her off. "I don't want your services." I really didn't. I'd attempted to accept her offer quite some time ago and found it to be… less than suitable.

She frowned. "You aren't still upset about our last meeting, are you?" she pouted and tilted her head to the side endearingly.

I sighed and chose to disregard her mention. "I have a problem that I figured you might be able to… advise me with," I carefully worded.

Her attention captured, she adapted a serious pose, folding her hands on the desktop. "How can I be of assistance?"

_Ahh_. This was the professional I'd been interesting in consulting. I sighed in relief. "Can I be earnest?"

Her eyebrows rose as she guaranteed, "I'd be personally insulted if you weren't, Mr. Masen."

Nodding, I took a moment to mentally prepare my explanation, lacking the time to do so before arriving. I'd been nervous about coming, but now that I was here, I was more comfortable than I'd felt in days. I realized that Tanya was the only person I'd have any hope of being able to confide in about this particular thing. It made a sense of ease swell within me, my shoulders relaxing.

Nothing I ever said would leave this room.

"Recently," I began, surprised at the effortlessness in which I met her gaze and jumped right in. "I was kissed by my best friend, and now… things are awkward for me." I folded my hands in my lap.

She curved an eyebrow. "Why should things be awkward?" she asked, a touch of condescension lacing her tone. She probably thought me a total prude.

"Because this friend just happens to have a penis," I answered unabashedly.

Her jaw dropped before closing, a pout gracing her little lips. "You wouldn't let _me_ kiss you," she scowled playfully.

Rolling my eyes I groaned, "Come on, Tanya. This is serious." I buried my fingers into my hair and scratched my scalp furiously, slouching into my seat. "He's having a difficult time right now, and all I can think about is whether or not I'm turning into a fagg—" I had to stop myself from saying it. I was in shock that I nearly had. I couldn't remember ever allowing something so vile and hateful to escape my lips. And after Jasper coming out to me…

Tanya's eyes flashed in fury as she stood, narrowing her eyes at me and hissing venomously, "You know what I do here, Mr. Masen. Half of my clients and employees prefer same-sex. I will not stomach that kind of ignorant, hateful, intoleran—"

"I'm sorry!" I exclaimed hastily, ramrod straight in my seat and utterly appalled at my behavior. I hadn't felt so ashamed of myself since _that_ night. It was as if I was unsuitable for either team. "I wasn't thinking. I never behave like that, honestly."

Seeming to sense my mortification, she slowly lowered herself back into her seat, scowling. "So, what? Come to barter a quick lay so you can prove yourself? Tear one of my girls up with your hatred?" she spat, still hostile from my near-slip of the tongue.

I simply sighed, shaking my head while looking at my toes in shame. "That's not why I came," I promised despondently.

She let the silence grow as I sulked like a child that had been caught using dirty language. I wanted to wash my mouth out with soap. Clearing her throat, she responded in an apologetic voice, "I'm sorry. We've had incidents in the past."

This brought back a faint memory of that day in the gym with Jasper. He'd been so quick to defend his sexual performance, so crude and desperate. It all made sense to me now. He really hadn't known for very long at all. The realization stunned me into silence for a moment before I could respond.

"I understand," I answered, smiling ruefully. "I feel like an ass."

Her easy smile returned, hands folded before her prettily. "You _feel _like a deliciously sculpted ass, Mr. Masen. Why don't you start over?"

I rolled my eyes and began again, "Well, he kissed me…" I waited for her measured nod before continuing, "I didn't return it or anything. I kind of just… sat there." I grimaced, remembering his reaction to my non-reaction. Or what he'd thought was my non-reaction. "But, I… I suppose that I… maybe–enjoyed it?" I hedged in a cautious whisper, my neck crawling with heat.

Tanya slumped forward, her vibrant hair smacking the desk. "Well, of _course_ you'd be gay," she muttered wryly.

My throat went dry as I attempted to swallow, my hands suddenly shaking. "Am I?" I asked. I'm sure I must have looked quite comical to her, my eyes wide and fearful as I awaited her judgment.

With an appraising glance, she leveled herself and asked, "Would that be terrible?"

I recognized her irritated tone, comprehending quickly that she thought me prejudiced, but this was far from the case. "I'm not being a bigot, Tanya," I soothed with a frown. "It might be right for some people, but it isn't right for _me._"

"Why not?"

I sighed, running my palm over my face in consideration as I began, "Because…" But I couldn't find a suitable answer for her question. There was a plethora of reasons that came immediately to mind, but they were all so petty.

_Because I want to get married.  
Because I want to have children and carry on the Masen name.  
Because it isn't natural.  
Because I can't stand the thought of telling my father that his dreams for me were wasted on sexual deviance.  
Because my family will hate me.  
Because I want to be normal._

Somewhere deep inside of my soul, I could apprehend that I _sounded_ like a bigot, and my self-hatred grew.

"…I can't," I choked in conclusion, incapable of admitting how I'd come to this conclusion.

Tanya must have sensed the desperation in my voice. I was expecting her ire yet again for my intolerance, but was surprised to see her eyes soften as she murmured consolingly, "I like kissing women, and I'm fairly confident that I'm _not_ gay, Mr. Masen." Her smile was warm and understanding, yet saddened.

She had an excellent point that lifted my spirits minimally. Heterosexual women kissed all the time and it didn't make them lesbians. It just made them… well, kind of skanky, but I thought the nicer term would be 'exploratory.'

"I can't answer your question, though," She pouted mockingly once again, folding her hands under her chin. "You throw my gaydar in a tizzy."

Relieved, yet confused, I asked, "What do you mean I throw your… gaydar into a tizzy?"

"Well," she mused softly, cocking her head to the side. "You are in no way effeminate, so I'd normally look closer and watch how you observe other people, but…" she trailed off, her eyebrows pulling together. "You don't seem to favor any gender in particular. In fact, you seem rather… apathetic, both ways," she stated bluntly.

My lips tugged down into a hard frown as I hedged, "Apathetic?" The most upsetting thing was that her deduction didn't feel entirely inaccurate.

With a sudden, curious expression, she lifted her chin and asked, "What does this boy look like?"

"Um," I stalled as my gaze shifted uneasily through the room, fixing on a red vase by the window. Hesitantly, I describe, "Tall, blonde, ear length hair…" I trail off, nervous about offering particulars and seeming obvious.

"Hmm," she hummed in consideration before asking, "What do you find most attractive about him?"

My eyes slid to hers as I swallowed nervously. "I'm not sure," I evaded, realizing quickly that this particular answer wouldn't do when she quirked an eyebrow at me skeptically. Puffing out my cheeks in exasperation, I huffed. "I don't fucking know. I guess… well, he has these… dimples," I admit grudgingly before swiftly rescinding in a musing tone, "No, no. Maybe his lips…" My forehead creased as I weighed the two, putting far too much thought into comparing which feature I liked best. Realizing that I was, I stiffened and met her gaze with worried eyes.

Curling her lips into a devious grin that made me wary, she reached for the phone, clicking a button with a perfectly manicured nail. "Could you send in Kate and Garrett, please?" she asked, releasing the button and tapping her nails in impatience.

Two minutes later the door opened and two people entered. One was a woman with brunette hair, just below her exposed shoulders. She winked at me as she swayed to Tanya. They exchanged a brief kiss on the cheek as the man entered the room. He was tall and somewhat muscular with a simple outfit on, bold features and sandy-blonde, ear-length hair. I grew immediately suspicious as I braced my palms against the arm rests.

They both stood before her as I met her gaze, curving an eyebrow quizzically.

"Kate," Tanya said, walking around her desk and leaning against it, hands gripping the edge as she smiled sweetly at me. "Kiss Mr. Masen."

I shot up from my chair with alarmed eyes. "What? No!" I shook my head, waving my arms in a show of objection. "That's not necessary." I looked to Kate and gave her a crooked smile, hoping that I hadn't hurt her feelings with my vehement refusal. "It's really not."

"Edward," Tanya whined, a rare show of using my first name as her eyebrows lowered into a glare. "You'll never know if you don't conduct a proper experiment."

I could feel the blood draining from my face as my gaze darted back and forth between Kate and Garrett. "You mean…" I swallowed loudly and shook my head. "No." No way was I kissing that guy.

"Yes," Tanya nodded sternly.

I made a show of looking at my watch as I shakily evaded, "My class starts in five minutes and I have the drive." That wasn't completely false, so I quickly turned and stiffly fled the room, Tanya calling behind me as I bounded down the steps.

Shoving the door open, I sprinted to the curb and lunged for the car that was waiting there. Once inside, my chest heaved with hard breaths, my hands trembling as I sped away to my normal, comfortable niche.

~-*-~

Jasper was still waiting out Rosalie's call by Thursday morning, and was unable to re-engage our once-common gym routine. For this, I was thankful. I wasn't certain I could handle three hours of his granting me further imagery to dwell on. It was bad enough that I remembered things, like how his hair matted to his forehead when he would sweat. I went alone, hoping to find an outlet for my pent-up self-irritation. I spent my time on the treadmill berating myself for focusing on such trifling things when Jasper was in dire need of a friend. I imagined his soft footfalls beside me as I ran, setting the machine on its highest possible setting—as if I could outrun the memory of how we walked together, perfectly in-sync.

By the time I got home, I was impossibly more edgy.

That night, I tried jacking off to Rosalie again. Tanya hadn't had such an awful idea about inviting Garrett in to test my attraction to him. But he didn't look anything like Jasper. He was too thick and burly. Rosalie, though… I was determined to give it one more shot.

Shamelessly, I made a bit of an occasion out of the whole thing. I turned my phone off and the television up. I cut out the lights, only the soft glow of her picture on the monitor illuminating me as I unbuttoned my pants and sank into my chair. I even had a bottle of lotion present and a pillow to rest my head upon. It was going to be the wank of a fucking lifetime.

I kept putting her in all of my favorite fantasies; school-girl skirts and pigtails, leather pants, coy librarian, even Mistress Rosalie. I was so close to utilizing Photoshop to make it more effective, but ultimately decided that was going just a little too far.

I worked myself frenziedly, more annoyed every second that I remained flaccid to her image. I closed my eyes and imagined her lips around me again, the sliding of her tongue, my hands weaving into her hair. Without even realizing it, I'd made the fantasy hair wavier, a little coarser.

My breath hitched and I immediately froze as my palm tightened. I gulped, at a sudden impasse as I both refused to continue and refused to leave the chair without getting off. I couldn't remember the last time I had, or what it was even to. But I was confident that there had been tits, and now there was hair that looked too similar to Jasper's.

I groaned and dropped my head against my seat, swiveling from side to side while lost in thought.

_No one would ever know I tried. It'd be a proper experiment, just like Tanya said. Your hypothesis is that you won't enjoy it. Rosalie is the control, a perfect middle. _No matter how I tried to justify it, it still seemed wrong and devious. The mere idea of holding myself while thinking his name injected a deep, sinking feeling into the pit of my stomach. Sadly, this also produced a slight thrill that tickled the depths of my groin.

Looking down at myself in my hand, I grimaced. _Fuck, dicks are ugly…_

I couldn't imagine anyone wanting to see one. I _certainly_ didn't want to see one. I didn't even want to see my own. I just tolerated the motherfucker because it was attached. Sure, it was my key to pleasure. Didn't mean I liked looking at it.

I was definitely not a dick lover.

Sighing, I closed my eyes and knew what had to be done. Tanya was a professional and rarely wrong. I'd make it quick, I decided. Like ripping off a band-aid. I'd find myself eased when the experiment failed, and then I'd consult an urologist—having attempted every other avenue to achieve erection. It was quite possible that my issues could be treated medically. I soared at the notion of an easy fix such as this.

Going to the doctor was normal.

I decided to start out small. No dicks. Ever. _Ever_. Simple was better. Little things, like the hair and lips and dimples. I began imagining the hair again; wavy and slightly coarse, sliding between my fingers as I felt breath against my nose. My breathing deepened as I remembered how it'd felt that night on the sofa with him trembling in front of me. I remembered the first touch of his lips and how they were cold, a little wet from the rain.

I began growing in my hand.

Unable to stop it there, I remembered how his lips had nudged mine, pouting to me and pulling my lip between his. My hand began moving with more urgency around myself, now fully erect as sparks of energy raced up my legs, up to my thighs, and settled in the depths of my groin. His fingers tangled in my hair, just like they had then, and pulled my face closer. Unbidden, I imaged that he parted his mouth, darting his warm tongue against my lips.

"Ffffuhh…"

I gasped, my eyes rolling back into my head as a sudden shock of energy exploded, covering me in blinding sparks of ecstasy. In that one moment of near-rapture, no one is capable of controlling what they envision. I envisioned my own lips parting, my fingers fisting into his hair as I crushed his face to my mouth. Our tongues twisted and curled around one another as we both groaned, his unyieldingly firm chest pressed against mine as I shoved my hips into his...

I spilled around my hand, twitching, groaning, and shuddering as the last images of his tongue against mine finally dissipated. I kept my eyes squeezed firmly shut, refusing to believe that had just happened. Refusing to believe that the image of Jasper kissing me not only made me hard, but actually got me off.

There was a deep ache in my chest that throbbed painfully. It gripped my lungs, my breathing ragged and restrained as I struggled to gulp in air. I couldn't place what emotion it was that suffocated me so wholly. Maybe longing. Maybe all-consuming shame. Probably equal parts of both.

When my eyelids finally lifted, I was staring at Rosalie with a watery gaze. Blonde, beautiful, graceful, witty, amazing Rosalie. Everything about her was perfect. I couldn't find one single flaw, really.

Except that she wasn't Jasper.

* * *

**A/N: **Yeah, the whole… jacking-off to another guy thing is a little cliché in slash preliminary revelations, but it's nearly impossible to avoid. I hope I didn't scare off or squick anyone out yet. If not, then… wait a chapter. I'm also really sorry for the language Edward nearly used. It was his character, not mine, but I still got that feeling of icky, evil badness.

**Cabbage:** CABG (This is a type of heart surgery. It's sometimes called CABG ("cabbage"). The surgery reroutes, or "bypasses," blood around clogged arteries to improve blood flow and oxygen to the heart.)

**Pump Oxygenator: **Heart-Lung Machine (Machine used when the heart is stopped for the bypass procedure.)

Chapter 3 will be posted very shortly! I've cherished your feedback and taken it heart, so please don't hesitate to let me know what you're feeling this go-around, however small or big you feel it may be.


	3. Forks

**A/N: **Stormy Bella and others encouraged my disturbing lack of self-control, and persuaded me to post this chapter sooner rather than later. I was also afraid that if I kept this on my hard drive any longer, it'd be in danger of becoming overwritten, if it hasn't been already.

This chapter (Oh, who am I kidding, the whole damn story!) is for Touchstone, who pre-reads my little ditties and has probably read this chapter in its _million_ different incarnations. She is one helluva trusty slash aficionado. And to my beta. You know who you are and how much I love.

This one is shorter than usual, but merits its own chapter. You'll see why… ~winks~

**

* * *

Chapter 3: Forks  
**~-*-~

I was sleeping soundly in my bed, spent from the physical and emotional exhaustion of the experiment and my findings when the sound of the phone awoke me. It was early, the clock at my side indicating that it was only just barely five-o-clock. I stumbled my way drowsily to the phone, flicking on lights as I passed my computer desk and avoided looking at the evidence of my deviance.

When I finally made it to the phone and picked it up, I was surprised to hear Jasper's soft, "Sorry for calling so early."

_Jasper had called me_, I thought in surprise. It was the first time in almost a month that he had, considering our prior falling out.

I was a little too eager as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and dismissed his apology. "I was already awake," I lied, the thickness of my voice betraying me.

There was a soft shuffling on the other end. "They're doing the surgery. I'm flying out in two hours," he said, anxiety evident in his voice as I cradled the receiver between my shoulder and ear.

"Shit, man. I'm sorry," I consoled in a gravelly sleep-voice. Running my fingers through my hair, I attempted to ease his worry with comments like, "With available technology, he's twenty times more likely to make a full recovery than if it'd happened only three years ago," and "It's an excellent hospital. He's in capable hands," and "He's a perfect candidate for the procedure." By the end of my speech, Jasper had calmed somewhat. I could hear his fidgeting over the phone.

"I'll probably miss a couple days of school," he sighed dreadfully.

I frowned as I turned on the kitchen light, squinting. "Don't worry about it. Between Ben, Angela, Connor, and me, we can record the lectures. You won't fall behind," I assured, knowing that he was worried about losing his place at the top of the class. Jasper was passionately devoted to his studies before all else, with the singular exception of his family. It was how it should be. It was something I never had, and I held it in high regard.

"You don't have to…" he faded with a long hiss into the microphone.

I scoffed as I began making a pot of coffee, yawning covertly. "I'm going to anyways, so shut your fucking mouth and get packed." I didn't have classes with Jasper, so getting the lectures recorded would necessitate a bit of… socializing—which wasn't really my forte, but I strangely didn't mind the inconvenience.

I wasn't doing it because of the overwhelming guilt I still felt for the day at Angel's, or how badly of a friend I'd been by being a bigoted homophobe, or how I'd been jacking off to his sister _and him_ when they were both agonizing over the possible loss of their father—_though guilt was certainly present_.

But the guilt wasn't the reason. He'd do it for me because he knew how important it was. It was time to stop playing the part of a good friend and actually _be_ a good friend, I determined. It was time to get over this sick infatuation with lips and hair and dimples. It was time to man-the-fuck-up.

There was a long pause, his breathing decreasing to a calming, lulled static. "My bike's still not running and… I don't have the money for a cab," he murmured uncomfortably.

I chuckled and immediately switched my coffee mug for my thermos. "I'll be there in thirty minutes."

After we hung up, I got dressed without even showering or shaving, throwing on the first thing my hands felt in the closet. I called the local cab company and arranged for him to be picked up at the dorms. I stepped into my shoes without lacing them and tried to put my jacket on as I locked the door and cradled two coffee thermoses. I burned my lips on the steaming beverage as I exited my building, cursing grumpily at my negligence.

I didn't go to the campus dorms often, Jasper usually preferring to come to my condo instead. He always said it was quieter. As I walked up to the buildings, I could see what he meant. There were people already milling about as I took the steps to his room in pairs, nodding at the occasional passer-by.

When I reached his door, I shoved a thermos under my arm and knocked quietly, ducking my head as someone passed behind me. Finally, it opened, and I was staring at a version of Jasper I'd never seen before.

His anxiety was palpable as he gripped the doorframe roughly. The circles under his eyes had worsened exponentially over the week, darkened and puffier, his chin and jaw covered in uncharacteristic gruff. His face, sallow and sunken, made him appear ill, and immediate concern swelled within me. He pulled the door open and grimaced. "You didn't have to come," he mumbled, lowering his chin and angling himself away from me. His hair was wet from a recent shower and he ran his fingers through it, unknowingly sending waves of the appealing aroma in my direction.

I scoffed as I followed him into to the room, inwardly wondering why I _had _ come. I'd already arranged payment for his cab and had no logical reason to be present when he departed. I rationalized that I'd wanted to follow my determination to be a better friend, but doubted he would understand why. Fumbling for a quick explanation, I blurted, "I brought you coffee and thought you might need help packing." My gaze flicked around nervously, wondering if Emmett was home and endlessly relieved that I wouldn't have to put up with his annoying nick-names when I found his side of the room vacant.

A packed duffel bag by the door indicated that _that_ particular excuse was moot. He halted in the middle of the room, darting his eyes about the cluttered floor anxiously as he continued raking his fingers through his wet hair.

"Umm…" He began bending over to pluck stray clothing off the floor, glancing up at me apologetically. "Sorry for the mess, man," he mumbled while frantically reaching for articles of clothing and gathering them in is arms. He huffed as he murmured, "Emmett wouldn't know a laundry hamper if it fucked him up the ass—" He was mid-bend when he froze, eyes sliding close, jaw locking as he snatched the shirt off the floor angrily.

It took me a moment to realize why he'd gone so rigid and suddenly mechanical as he continued swiping things off of the floor.

That familiar heat crept up my neck as I tentatively inspected the room. "It doesn't matter. Sit down and have some coffee for a minute," I offered, shuffling to the table in front of their small sofa—loveseat—to set the thermos upon. The loveseat was in the middle of the space, facing a medium-sized television with two beds on either side of the room. I had to suppress an eye roll as I observed the contrast between Emmett's side of the room and Jasper's.

I always got the impression that Emmett was one of those people who thrived in chaos and had his own, unique system of hidden organization. I betted that he could walk right into the room and find anything you asked him to, whereas to any outsider, it just appeared as though he was a complete slob.

Jasper's side of the room was less disorderly. His bed was made, and the only apparent mess was concentrated around his desk, papers and books spilling out of drawers and hanging from the bulletin board above. An inspection of his desktop indicated that he'd been working recently, his word processor open and blinking as paragraphs of text filled the screen. I frowned as I realized the he'd probably spent all night on a paper of some sort.

I unconsciously scrutinized him with careful eyes, remembering Tanya's comments about utilizing her 'gaydar.' Jasper wasn't effeminate. Quite the contrary, in fact. Though he held himself in a passive and introverted posture, his height and the way in which his shirt hugged the obvious muscles of his chest and arms made him appear masculine. He wasn't someone you'd willingly choose to take in a fight, though his intimidation had little to do with his musculature. Jasper was silently intimidating. One could never tell when he was sizing them up because he'd simply appear dark and thoughtful. He could be unpredictable when he really wanted to be. I deduced that Tanya would be at a loss with someone like Jasper. This comforted me, because apparently, she didn't know as much as she liked to believe.

He spent a few more minutes straightening up, tossing items to Emmett's side that littered the floor's center. Eventually, he stilled his movement and stalked to the small sofa, avoiding my gaze. He sank into it heavily, a low 'whoosh' of his scent making my fingers tighten around the drink in my hand. "Thanks," he grumbled as he took the thermos from the table. I stood awkwardly, watching as he sighed, closing his eyes and sipping the drink slowly.

"You stayed up last night working," I hedged disapprovingly as I inspected his pallid face.

Shaking his head, he set the thermos down on the table and rested his elbows on his knees. His wet hair stuck to his knuckles as he raked his fingers through his locks in frustration. "I have a paper due Tuesday. I'm not sure I'll be back by then, so," he trailed off, his eyes tightening at the edges as he scowled at his toes.

Scrambling to ease his worry, I replied, "Maybe you can work on it there and email it to the professor. I think they let Ben do that when his mom had her accident." My forehead creased as he rolled his eyes, finally meeting my gaze.

"And then if he doesn't accept it, I'm just fucked," he grumbled, taking another slow sip of his drink.

I knew better than to believe that his mood had anything to do with his upcoming paper. His eyes were unfocused, faraway as I realized that he'd never care about having a paper due in this particular circumstance. He was just directing his frustration to something controllable.

_And he's supposed to be the psych major… _

My shoulders slumped as I fought to reassure him once again, "Your dad's going to be fine, Jasper. He's in perfect physical—"

"Yeah, I get it, okay?" he spat harshly, finally meeting my gaze. I felt a pang build inside of my chest that made me finally look away from him.

I brought my coffee to my lips and fought the newly forming lump emerging in my throat. "Sorry," I muttered lowly. I never knew what to say or do. I never knew how to make things right. My eyebrows pulled together into a scowl as I stared at the carpet below my feet.

After another moment, Jasper sighed regretfully. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be an ass, I've just… I've had a really shitty week," he apologized, sparing me a fleeting, remorseful glance before burying his face in his hands. "I take it out on the nearest person. That's why Emmett isn't here," he mumbled into his palms. I noted a trace of bitterness as he spoke Emmett's name.

I was suddenly furious at his roommate for no logical reason. Emmett should have stayed with him to keep him company—regardless of his mood. The thing about rooming with people, however, is that the close living quarters can't make someone an automatic friend. "That's okay," I whispered in understanding, a frown tugging at my lips.

I let the silence draw on as he calmed himself, weaving his fingers into his hair and resting his forehead against the heels of his palms. I unwillingly pondered my relationship with my own father and wondered if I'd be this distraught had he been in the same circumstance. I loved my father, but he was always so cocky and confident. It was as if he'd always been invincible. I decided that I probably had too much assurance in that quality. I wondered if it made me a terrible son.

Desperate to take my thoughts off of my own reflections, I watched Jasper. I couldn't see his face, but I knew he was much different from me. I doubted his father ever did things like lecturing for hours on end on the insignificance of Little League. I doubted Jasper's dad minded when he called him "dad." There was no way Jasper's dad would have ever exiled him to two years of European boarding school because he'd failed Social Studies.

His dad probably told him that Little League wasn't about winning, it was about being part of a team and having fun. His dad probably loved it when he called him "dad." If Jasper had ever failed anything, his dad probably asked what had been distracting him from his studies and made it a point to help.

"Are you okay?" I quickly asked, incapable of being empathetic, but making an honest effort to imagine how frightened I'd be, were I him.

He was silent for a few minutes as his face pointed to the floor between his knees, fingers still tangled in his wet hair. The rise and fall of his back made me wondered if he'd fallen asleep. Just as I'd considered shaking him, he croaked, "I'm going there to watch him die."

I took a quick step forward, my first instinct being to comfort him in some physical way. I froze as I realized how weird that would be given the circumstances. A hug seemed much to intimate to me, the crossing of a line I'd unknowingly set. My next instinct was to comfort him with words—but that had failed miserably before. _"Yeah, your dad will be dead, but only in the technical, machines-will-be-circulating-his-blood-for-him kind of way. It's actually kind of cool, in the scientific sense…"_ Any explanation of the heart-lung machine's purpose felt too insensitive to verbally explore while he was so distressed.

Then I was filled with a red-hot, brimming revulsion of myself for not going with my first instinct, simply because Jasper had been honest. It was like throwing it back in his face to stand there and watch his suffering while I worried if hugging him would give him the wrong impression. I would have hugged him a month ago without second thought. I wouldn't have had any hesitation to do the right thing. I wondered why I couldn't just be a good friend instead of a stupid, hateful, ignorant bastard.

Deciding that I'd hate myself if I didn't, even more than I already did, I stepped forward. I might have been raised to be straight, but I was also raised to be loyal. I stepped around the table and set my thermos near the corner, wiping my palms on the thighs of my jeans as I unconsciously analyzed ridiculous things like positioning and proximity.

Rolling my eyes, I stepped in front of him and lowered myself to the table, perching on the edge and praying it would hold my weight. He didn't acknowledge me until my feet came into his view, his face lifting slightly. Before he could catch glimpse of my nervous expression, I leaned forward and enveloped him in an awkward, one-armed man-hug.

Awkward, one-armed man-hugs were normal.

He stiffened infinitesimally as my palm went to his back, patting it uncomfortably. I drew my nose dangerously close to his hair as he tentatively responded, resting his forehead gingerly upon my shoulder.

I tried to hold my breath as I rubbed his back, murmuring, "He'll pull through." I accidently inhaled, breathing the scent of his shampoo – an indiscernible, clean-smelling aroma. The dampness of it brushed against my cheek and velcroed to my minimal stubble as his back warmed my palm. My mind, clouding with the sensations of his head on my shoulder and his knees grazing the outsides of my own, fumbled for something to break the palpable tension of the moment. "Rosalie would shove her stiletto up his ass if he didn't."

It began as a quiet snort and erupted into chortles that shook us both as he laughed softly into my shoulder. It was such a refreshing sound. So much better than the dismal mood he'd been in. I actually laughed along with him, the tension in my shoulder's easing as I rubbed his back with more confidence. Preparing to pull away, I felt accomplished at something other than academics for once.

I gave him one last clap on the back and drew my face back.

As we separated, my cheek grazed his ear and slowed. My nose unconsciously inhaled the cold, damp hair that veiled it. My hand drew itself up to his shoulder as the scent intoxicated me. His smell was calming, tempting my nose nearer. By the time my cheek had reached his, it had stalled completely. There was a gentle warmth that climbed my spine and settled at the base of my neck. I couldn't identify the sensation, but I was now blanketed in its perfection.

My other hand shot to his shoulder as well, my body growing rigid in alarm as I gripped him. It was then that I understood what the warmth was: that _wrong_ side of me finally deciding to recognize our proximity and how blissful his face felt against mine. I dug my fingers into his flesh, my jaw locking as he froze, stubbled-cheek-to-stubbled-cheek with me.

"What?" he asked, completely oblivious to the war that was raging within me.

I was battling to remember tits and Rosalie and Kate and Tanya's failed attempt at blowing me two years ago. None of these things produced the warmth, but all of them were acceptable. This was not.

It was suddenly a struggle to separate myself from him, knowing that his lips were so near to mine, the source of this pull that drew my cheek nearer to his. I squeezed my eyes closed and told myself this wasn't the right time to deal with this shit. I wanted it to go away. I'd been doing so well. I'd made him laugh, and now… now I was getting hard because his breath against my skin was so much like that night. And he smelled _so good_ and so _ unbelievably _warm… I pressed my fingers deeper as my breathing turned ragged against his cheek.

I prepared to shove him away.

I prepared to pull him closer.

It was then that I knew I'd finally reached that fork in the road.

It were as if I'd been waiting for it to come, and had felt relief with every moment it hadn't. It was the same type of fork that determined my decision to be a doctor instead of a composer. Once I chose to acknowledge this urge, I'd never be capable of erasing it or going back. If I pushed him away, I'd push the urge away with it, and never again put myself in the path of temptation. And if I pulled him closer… that path was impossibly blurrier. The uncertainty of that path's ambiguity was simultaneously my worst nightmare and... apparently... my strongest desire.

My heart began thrashing as I swallowed in quick succession, holding him still with my iron-grip. I watched his own pulse point quicken beneath the thin skin of his neck, signifying his eventual comprehension. I dragged my cheek across his, convincing myself that I could abandon this sensation of warmth and fleeting, wicked bliss. I could just pull away and send him to the airport. No harm done. I knew where that path led with certainty.

His cheek was searing as mine drug against it, feeling the taut muscles below the skin of his jaw tense, and locking. Unwillingly, my eyelids began to fall under his soothing heat. The languid drag of our abrasive cheeks created a gruffy friction, pleasant and disturbingly satisfying. My movements suddenly transformed into more of an involuntary nuzzle, seeking more of the scratchy sensation as I felt his breathing deepen against my skin. My fingers sank deeper to still their impending trembles as I pressed my cheek closer, shifting my mouth to his skin.

Viciously rigid tremors suddenly erupted throughout my body, realizing that at some point, I'd already chosen the path. I'd already dreamt of his lips and imagined his tongue against mine. I'd already known how deeply I craved his closeness. I just hadn't realized that it was this strong, and that every particle of my body warmed with his contact. That it felt more tempting than anything I'd ever known. That I was too selfish and depraved to let it simply pass me by without experiencing its alien decadence.

That I would have thrown everything away to feel his kiss, and, just once, have the pleasure of returning it.

With a final, agonized surrender, I lifted my lips to brush against his rough jaw, pushing them into his stiff muscles as I scrunched my eyes closed.

With that single confirmation, his breathing deepened. His body was unyielding and motionless as I drew my lips to his, dragging them over the heat of his flushed, coarse skin, traveling the path to delicious gratification. I gripped his shoulders impossibly tighter as the sweep of my lips stuttered against his cheek. I thought he was trembling until I realized that the vibrations of my hands were shaking him, reverberating through his arms and down his body. I could feel his knees just barely knocking against the outsides of mine. If he noticed it, he didn't make it known as I moved closer, his chest producing long, breezy exhales that washed across my face.

I wondered why he wasn't responding or turning his face to me as I slowly approached the lure of his lips, but was too frightened to open my tightly clenched eyes to find out. I began doubting his desire, even though the excitement evident in his breaths proved otherwise. I wondered how much I'd die inside if he rejected my kiss, and knew that it'd be devastating. To have finally chosen to act upon this... urge and have it dissatisfied and ultimately unfulfilled seemed unbearable and... karmic.

I hovered at the corner of his lips when the edges of mine arrived, my nose pressed firmly into his cheek. Breathing erratically against his face, I asked myself if I was really ready to do this and accept what it meant. Already knowing my answer, I pouted my lips to the edge of his mouth and kissed it softly. I braved a cautious peek through my eyelids just as his fell, lips parting as he exhaled a large, ragged gust and finally turned his face.

Then our lips were on each other, and it was even better than I remembered. His lips were warm this time, not cold, but just as soft. The added friction of our unshaven flesh only amplified the sensation. My trembling only worsened as the lower part of my body reacted immediately, my pants tightening uncomfortably. I closed my eyes again, my breath against him loud and filling the room with quick and erratic hisses. I remained still as I fisted my hands deeper into his shoulders, finding myself so nervous and frightened that I couldn't even remember how to kiss anymore.

He was the first to move, pushing his lips into mine gently to test my reaction. Our lips knocked with my transferred tremors. I focused on following his example, pushing back clumsily against the softness and stiffly awaiting his response. He replied by pouting into mine, his bottom lip wedging itself firmly between my own. My fingers ached as they seated themselves deeper into his flesh, my shuddering escalating to violent quakes. My heartbeat lashed mercilessly as I puffed in rapid sequences, the sharp hissing of my nose crushed against him growing louder. Somewhere deep in the recesses of my barely-functioning consciousness, I recognized that I was very close to hyperventilating. Unfortunately, this only made my anxiety rise.

"Shhh," he shushed softly into my kiss, making me flinch at the vibrations of it against my lips. His body leaned further into me, entirely eased as he whispered softly, "Relax."

But I didn't know how to relax, so instead, I just moved my lips again, hungry to feel his mimicking me. As he did, softly drawing my lips to his, I could feel his arms shift. The muscles that my fingers had embedded themselves into shifted below the flesh of his shoulders. I almost jumped as I felt his palms encircle my wrists, pulling gently as if to request I let go of him. I didn't know if I could, or where they would go if I did.

I couldn't remember ever feeling so simultaneously thrilled and terrified.

With a wince against me, he tugged my wrists once more, holding his lips to mine patiently. My rapid breathing began making my vision spotty behind my firmly clenched eyelids. I finally had to let go because I was obviously causing him pain. Loosening my tense, trembling fingers from his flesh, I instantly dropped them, his wrists sliding away as I did. I searched for the edge of the table I sat on, finding it and using it as a victim to my grip as I dug my fingers into the cheap wood and smashed my lips into his further.

He sighed against me as his lips began moving again. "Breathe," he ordered softly, capturing my top lip between his and pecking it gingerly.

It was then that I realized what Jasper was doing. He was giving me what I hadn't been capable of offering him. He was trying to ease my tremors and reassure me with his unusual confidence. Confirming my thoughts, his hands settled on my arms as I returned his kiss, rubbing his palms against my shaking muscles soothingly.

I did as he instructed and breathed deeply through my nose to settle myself. I kept my eyes close to direct my focus. I concentrated on the warmth of his palms, rubbing up and down my arms. I tried to match the steady rhythm of his breath against my face with my own, and slowly, my tremors and panting began to lessen. He changed lips, going for my bottom, drawing it between his and releasing it languorously. One of his palms ascended my arm, over my shoulder, and rose to my inflamed neck. He curled his fingers and wove them through the hair at my nape as he continued granting me soft kisses, alternating between my lips as I gradually relaxed. My breathing began to slow in gradual steps, deepening nearly to the rhythm of his.

My shaking finally ceased, only the occasional after-shock resonating through me. My grip on the table loosened with his soft fingering of my hair, his calming ministrations effective and lulling.

"Mmm," he hummed in satisfied praise against my mouth, rewarding me as he pulled at my lips with his. Finally capable of responding to his kiss, I swept my lips against his and captured them gently between my own. I could feel his small, pleased smile at my compliance, the satiny skin of the lip taken between mine, stretching. His pleasure and satisfaction made the warmth in me bloom, amplifying to an airy sensation that filled my chest with an odd buoyancy.

I felt almost limp with ease—a sheer contrast to my earlier anxiety attack. My squeezed eyelids eased into a deep hood, the pale stipple of his cheeks blurring into a slit below my blackened vision. I was finally able to fully enjoy the sensation of his lips against mine and the dampened, soft brushes and pinches between his. It was like he'd hypnotized me, or put me under a spell where nothing but his mouth neither mattered nor existed.

His lips were slack yet responsive as we began sharing languid pecks. The tip of his nose brushed against mine when he alternated lips, a tender nudge. His hands slid from my neck and cradled my face. Shoulders tensing with a deep inhale, he thumbed my cheeks and kissed me back as if the moment – or perhaps my lips – were like a delicate bubble, sacred and fragile. To be savored, not devoured.

I eventually wanted to part my lips and didn't hesitate to begin disconnecting them. This kiss, I decided, was much like visiting Paris and being unable to depart until you'd seen the Eiffel tower. His breathing stuttered minutely as my mouth began dividing, incapable of passing up the opportunity to fulfill my sinful fantasy from the night prior. He fixed his lips to mine and followed their gradual separation as I watched them from my hooded periphery. His thumbs rubbed soothingly against my cheek, unnecessarily continuing to calm me as he breathed into my opening mouth. I could taste the mint of toothpaste, the sweetness of coffee on his hot breath as he exhaled into me. He began inching infinitesimally closer to the edge of the loveseat in anticipation, his nose sweeping mine softly as he inclined his face.

I knew instinctively that he wouldn't enter my mouth first. He waited patiently against me, giving me the opportunity to make the decision as we sat, our parted mouths unmoving. I could feel the excitement in his breaths and the tightening of his palms, the encouragement in the presses and rubs of his thumbs. Knowing that his tongue would await me, I drew mine out to where our lips connected. My initial notion was confirmed when I met the tip of his slick, hot tongue, my body charging instantly. The prickles of electricity bolting up my thighs, and his immediate groan upon contact, startled and thrilled me.

Encouraged, he began shallowly looping his tongue around mine, swirling our tips in slow, wet circles. It was like no kiss I'd ever experienced. Our mutual rotations were graceful and synchronized as I opposed his circular movements, our tongues twisting leisurely around one another. We worked in a gradual deepening, the curling of our tongues bringing our lips closer together. Something built within me and bubbled up my throat as I felt his face angle, tongue finally plunging deeply into my mouth. It took me longer than it should have to identify that I wanted to _moan_.

My forehead creased in wonder at the unfamiliarly wanton, throaty sound emerging from my chest. He returned my moan with one of longing and crushed me closer as his tongue began exploring my mouth eagerly.

I was lifting my hand to finally bury my fingers into his hair when the phone rang.

The tranquil spell of his lips – the delicacy of our fragile bubble – was abruptly, devastatingly broken.

He whimpered into my mouth as I stiffened, pulling my tongue back with a gasp. My breathing accelerated as my eyelids flew open, finally appreciating that we were making out in the men's dorm room. We'd be fucking crucified if seen in this position. I blanched and made to move away, but his palms tightened around my head.

"Ignore it," he pleaded, devouring my lips with urgency as the phone continued its shrill disruption. I neither acquiesced nor resisted as he continued pulling my lips to his, trying to get mine to part once again as his brows furrowed in desperation.

Then the machine picked up, Rosalie's voice ringing through the room as he tugged my lips frenziedly. "Jasper, you'd better be awake! Pick up the fucking phone!"

He growled against my mouth in defiance, smashing his lips against mine and framing my face with his hands. His body inched closer to me, his knees touching my thighs as he smashed, sucked, and pulled greedily.

"Jasper Hale! I mean it! Pick up right this second, or so help me God, I'm going to call Emmett and–"

"Goddammit!" he exclaimed as he finally pulled away, panting and frustrated. He lunged off the sofa and snatched the phone off the cradle angrily. He was still breathing raggedly, lips blazing pink as he brought the phone to his ear. "You can just… sense joy, can't you?" he chuckled humorlessly, eyes smoldering in a mixture of ache and fury.

I was too busy recovering to focus on their exchange. My heart was racing, my hands shaking once again as I gasped for breath and sucked the remnant of his kiss from my lips. I tried closing my eyes, counting to one hundred to calm my nerves, shaking out my hands in an attempt to find the stillness I craved.

"You've got one fucking minute, Rose," he growled into the phone, jaw locked in annoyance as he turned his back to me and ruffled his rapidly-drying hair. _Which I didn't even get to touch…_

I turned my head and swallowed, blocking out the particulars of their conversation as I worked to calm my raging heartbeat.

_And erection…_

The throbbing between my legs drew my eyes downward and I grimaced. Reluctantly, I slid my hand into my pocket to adjust myself furtively. I hissed as I made contact, Jasper's head turning to the sound. I swiftly withdrew my hand, running it through my hair coolly as my blazing neck and anxious eyes betrayed me.

I had no possible way of hiding the bulging evidence of my arousal as his eyes made a fluid descent to my lap, widening. His jaw went slack as the sound of shrieking floated through the earpiece. I shifted awkwardly, his eyes lurching to mine.

"Huh?" he breathed into the phone before turning. "What? I—I didn't catch that…"

As they continued speaking, I rose from the table and sank into the sofa, holding my thermos to obstruct the view of my hard-on. My panic was mounting as I heard their conversation draw to a close, completely uncertain of how to continue when distractions were gone.

Like a gift from the Gods, Emmett came bounding into the room the exact second that Jasper said his farewell. I'd never been so elated and relieved to see him.

Emmett's smile widened when he spotted me on the couch. "Eddie Kruger! Long time no see, bro." He extended a hand in greeting and I leaned forward, trying not to wince as the thermos rubbed against my too-slowly-abating erection. He attempted some weird, college-dude hand-smack-thumb-locking thing that elicited my pointed eye roll.

Flopping down beside me, he propped his feet on the table—the exact location where I'd sat not even five minutes ago and made out with his roommate. I unconsciously rubbed at my fiery lips, hoping that they weren't as red and swollen as they felt. Swallowing nervously, I tightened my grip around the thermos and prayed he was too non-observant to notice all of the obvious details.

"Almost set to go, Jas?" he asked as he turned on the television and relaxed into the sofa. I followed his gaze and watched the tail-end of the local news, avoiding Jasper's significant stare.

He responded dully, "Yeah. I have to leave in a minute." Then in a far more interested tone, "Edward? You wanna' walk me out?" He traveled to the duffel bag by the door and turned to me expectantly. It didn't escape me that he was holding the bag at his front instead of wearing it over his shoulder.

Still pretending to be captivated by the television and in no way prepared for any discussion related to the prior event, I answered in a falsely absent voice, "The cab's probably already waiting," and mirrored Emmett by propping one foot on the table. Emmett spared me an appraising glance, nodding in approval at my comfort and began flipping through channels. It was incredibly uncharacteristic of me to hang out in their room, despite Emmett's many invitations.

"Yeah, but—" Jasper paused and huffed impatiently. "We should talk..." My eyes lurched to him in horror and alarm, shocked that he'd be so blunt about it in Emmett's presence. Flaring his nostrils, he added, "...about recording my lectures."

I diverted my gaze to the door and scrambled to find an excuse for staying. Coming up too blank to be convincing, I sighed in defeat. I was forced to stand and offer Emmett a weak farewell, nodding in his direction as Jasper and I exited the room and closed the door. I locked my gaze on the toes of my shoes as he led me down the hall, only two people passing as we descended the steps and approached the doors.

Luck was on my side as a tall guy stood in the corner, speaking on a cell phone and being too close to hearing range to risk a conversation. Jasper spared me a meaningful sideways glance as we exited the building. Outside was just as glorious. There were people filling the path to the parking lot, and even as Jasper attempted to slow, another would simply pass.

Seeming to realize that he'd be unable to confront me before leaving, he made a bee-line for the cab and tossed his bag in the back.

He turned to me and tucked his hair behind his ear, scanning the parking lot as he narrowed his eyes. "Should I… call?" he asked, darting his eyes to mine.

Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I shifted awkwardly and nodded, impatient to have him gone. Mostly, I was impatient to return to the solace of my apartment so I that I could experience my emotional meltdown privately.

Pursing his lips, he nodded in response and grudgingly entered the cab, slamming the door behind him.

As I watched the yellow car depart, putting more and more distance between us, I knew that I'd lose my shit when I got home. I didn't know the extent of my waiting disgust, anger, shame, and self-hatred, but I knew it'd be enormous. I was uncertain of how long it would plague me, but I knew it'd likely be for the rest of my life. I had no idea whether or not I'd ever be able to look in the mirror again, but I knew I'd never see myself the same.

I also couldn't help but feel as though that kiss was worth every bit of it.

**

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A/N: ** I am so shockingly nervous! ~wrings hands~ I hope I did the first consensual kiss justice. And though I know I was descriptive, I _really_ hope I wasn't _annoyingly _descriptive, you know? I just considered how analytical-minded Edward's character is and figured he'd definitely make note of things like swirling tongues and how scratchy stubble can sometimes feel good. Please don't hesitate to tell me if it felt tedious to read through. It's always my biggest worry when being descriptive!

Thanks infinitely for taking the time to read and comment. It means the world to me!


	4. Mars In Anarchy

**A/N: **Twilight and related characters belong to SM, not me.

Sorry for the delay. Crazy summer. Thanks for the reviews and comments and various pimpings. That Bellie nom really flabbergasted me! Thanks for all the nominations and votes. I'm beyond grateful! Congratulations to all the wonderful winners. And super thanks to my beta, who not only makes me sound not stupid, but also made me an awesome banner over at Twilighted. You're the bestest of the restest and a real swell broad. Touchstone, too, of course. Thanks for reading!

* * *

**Chapter 4: Mars In Anarchy**  
**~-*-~**

By the time I got home from the campus dorms, I only had one-and-a-half hours until my first class began, but I didn't want to go. This was the first day ever in which I seriously considered staying home, which was alarming in and of itself. I walked into my condo and darted my wild eyes around the expansive space. There was a Popular Mechanics magazine folded over the arm of the sofa, a day old glass of orange juice sitting beside the sink, and every inch of the floor seemed to be covered in grains of dirt. I'd never seen my apartment so filthy. _God, it was repulsive_. I could feel my skin crawling just being in the presence of such muck. I tore my jacket off, pushed my sleeves up to my elbows, and set to work.

This emotional meltdown would have to be expedited.

The extent of my cleaning was so unusually thorough that it took me some time to figure out where all of the detergents and cleaning supplies were even located. My mother had hired a local service to clean my apartment once a week, and it was rare that I had to anything beyond that of simple upkeep. But it wouldn't do to push this chore off to paid help. As I meticulously tackled every visibly soiled surface, I began finding dust and ancient grime that had been continuously neglected by the cleaning service. Disgusted, I scowled at the overlooked stains as I scrubbed them viciously.

It wasn't until I'd somehow managed to find myself scrubbing the tile of the kitchen floor that a memory came to me, like a slap against my cheek.

_"Edward!" my father called to me from across the crowded room, waving his hand enthusiastically. There were easily fifty people between us, all dressed in formal tuxedos and evening gowns. The Masen Christmas party had always been an enormous production, and I fidgeted with my bowtie as I weaved through the crowd._

_I hated bowties._

_I regretted making such an early appearance as I sidled up to my father, all of the usual suspects congregated around him._

_He slung his arm over my shoulder, gloating, "Edward, here, just returned from Europe. Tell them about your accolades, son."_

_Shifting awkwardly, I mumbled a brief summation of the graduate award I'd been given. It was in French, a well-known distinction chosen by the academy's headmaster for scholastic excellence. My father's eyes shone as I finished, and I had the feeling that he'd be inviting me to their famed "nightcap"—a privilege usually only bestowed upon Dr. Johnson's sixteen-year-old son, Trevor. Trevor said they let him sip Johnny Walker Blue as they discussed his plans for the coming semester._

_"How about that, Charles? And only fourteen, nonetheless. What did you say your boy was up to these days?" My father looked pointedly to Andrew Kohler, who was sitting near the bar with his friends, likely attempting to swindle something alcoholic from the bartender._

_Charles frowned briefly, but as was usual with him, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and his expression followed. "It's perfectly healthy for adolescents to have a period of indifference," he began explaining. Drs. Johnson, Chenowith, and Morgan all subtly rolled their eyes._

_As he droned, my father nodded along, leaning down to my ear and scoffing, "Psychiatrists. That's all psychobabble for "Andrew's too lazy." I'd bet he'd finally touch his textbooks if they put them down his pants."_

_My howling laughter could be heard reverberating through the hall as my father chuckled softly beside me, looking innocently confused by my loud amusement. Ever since I'd returned home, he'd been unusually pleasant to me. Well, he wasn't usually _un_pleasant, but certainly not as outwardly friendly as he'd been._

_Recovering, I apologized for my behavior and excused myself, accepting their congratulatory remarks with only a hint of smugness. Just as I turned, my elbow knocked into one of the servers' trays, sending hors d' oeuvres flying thorough the air, landing haphazardly onto the marbled floor._

_My eyes widened in horror and embarrassment as everyone turned to me. It had been habit at the boarding school to pick up after myself, so I hastily apologized and bent to do so. I picked them up and sat them on the tray, taking the towel from the server and wiping the mess clean from the floor. He simply stared at me in something akin to shock as I busied myself with the task._

_A large hand suddenly grasped my shoulder, gently pulling me up. I turned to see my father standing behind me, his brow quirked quizzically as I held two handfuls of the scattered hors d' oeuvres. For some reason, I felt the need to apologize as his eyes bore into mine, disappointment and remorse palpable in his stare. The disappointment I could comprehend, but the guilt was perplexing to me._

_His lips tugged up into a rueful grin. "Don't waste those surgeon's hands, son," he said softly, almost apologetically. "Floor scrubbing is meant for paid help and women, preferably a combination of the two. Are you either?" Taking the food from my hands, he passed them off to the server, his dark eyes shifting to amusement as he turned to the spectators. "Or perhaps I should fetch you an apron and save myself eight years of Ivy League tuition?"_

_The sound of his friends' laughter was like a stab to my chest, my father patting my back as the server finished his duty._

_For the rest of the evening, he still wore that heavy, guilty and sorrowed expression, staring into his drink thoughtfully while sparing me the occasional apologetic glance._

_I never got invited to the nightcap._

The sponge made a sickening, slopping sound as I tossed it flatly onto the linoleum. I stood and stared down at the wet floor beneath my feet, partially clean. Now _I_ felt filthy. My forearms itched, my teeth felt fuzzy, and my pores seemed to be begging for the relief of a good cleansing.

I left the cleaning supplies behind.

My skin stung as I scrubbed it under the scalding water of the shower head, my flesh turning a violent red. I lathered my hair three times, as if the shampoo might carry with it the feeling of Jasper's fingers as it washed away. I brought my toothbrush with me into the shower and cleansed my mouth with its rough bristles, distantly mourning my attempt to erase what had likely been one of the most electrifying experiences of my entire life.

I never thought my father to be particularly demeaning to paid service or women by suggesting these things. He was just a traditionalist, old fashioned. He'd taught me to respect women by opening their doors and pulling out their seats. "Treat them as if they were queens," he often said. He always taught me that the first place to properly kiss a woman while courting her was firstly on her hand, and lastly her forehead. As I got older and discussions regarding intimacy became unavoidable, he never used words like "intercourse" or "sex" or "penetration" but opted instead for trite terms like "lovemaking."

I scrubbed my face and neck most thoroughly, only ceasing for fear that my efforts might leave obvious marks—marks that would surely rouse suspicions. I scrubbed everywhere. There was really only one part of my body that didn't get my careful attention, and I left it intentionally untouched as I exited the shower.

I'd been wrong about one thing, however. I found it was painfully possible to look at myself in the mirror. Through the fogged reflection of myself, nothing about me looked any different, save for the color of my heavily scoured skin. That was really the worst part of the entire situation: I could still recognize myself.

The shine of the razor in my hand beckoned to clean my shameful slate and steal with it the memory of plush lips and heady breaths. After my rough stubble was gone, I'd have nothing but my own memories and Jasper himself to remind me of my wrongdoings. I could get through my day in a blissful denial. Every detail that had seared itself into each individual hair on my face—his cheek against mine, his fingernails against my scalp, my lips against his jaw, his thumbs in the hollows of my cheeks—it'd be as if it never existed.

All I had to do was shave it away.

I called the cleaning service before I left the condo, requesting an unscheduled appointment since I refused to scrub my kitchen floor. Then I walked out of the building and made my way toward campus, pretending as though this day was like any other.

To create disorder and entertain the notion that I might ever be able to relive the experience of kissing Jasper would be beyond selfish. I'd be disrupting so much more than my own expectations, toying with the path that I'd chosen. How could I willingly create this strife and still sleep at night? It was such a difficult concept to abandon, this image of a woman and the way in which I was always taught to court her. I wanted to treat a woman like a queen. I liked being a gentleman. I enjoyed opening doors for women and seeing their smiles. I loved the look of adoration on each of my past girlfriends' faces when I ended the night by kissing them on the forehead instead of plunging my tongue down their throats. One of the benefits of becoming a wealthy surgeon was the ability to lavish a woman with fine things. I longed to adorn her in jewels and provide her with a large house. I wanted to see the look on my mother's face when we announced our engagement and had our perfect fucking two-point-five kids. The face of this future wife was a blank to me, but I'd always been so positive she existed.

Unfortunately, the only_ real _tangibility was the course sensation of sinister nostalgia. It rolled along my jaw and below my fingertips as I reached up to stroke the thickness of my sacred stubble.

~-*-~

Ben and Angela both sat in their seats, looking at me as if I had just asked them to debate the nature of infinite regress as it related to the existence of God or some such. I shifted uncomfortably as I chewed my sandwich, diverting my gaze and feeling as though I had some sort of mark carved into my forehead. Walking through the crowd of people and feeling as though they _knew_ was quite bad enough. Add the scrutiny of my two acquaintances on top of that, and I was about three seconds from running back home.

"What?" I eventually asked, swallowing thickly.

Ben blinked a couple times before looking down at the silver ledger I'd given him. "Nothing," he replied, shrugging, though it certainly sounded like _something_.

Angela interjected then with a smile, "I think what Ben means is that… we're glad to help Jasper. Right, Benny?" As she said this, her leg jerked beneath the table, and then Ben hissed and winced.

"Thank you," I mumbled and got up to leave, gathering my bag and the last remaining recorder and ledger. I fumbled and nearly dropped them in my haste. I felt their eyes following me after I said my goodbye and left.

This task done, I headed to the north side of campus and began mentally preparing myself for my final encounter of the day. I had managed to get everyone on board to help Jasper so far. Eric had been rather easy. He agreed without much question or suspicion. Tyler was only slightly more difficult, appearing a bit anxious to undertake the seemingly mammoth responsibility I'd asked of him. And Angela and Ben were willing, but a little overwhelmed by my… diligence, but I refused to fuck this up or do it halfway. I needed it to be as if Jasper were here, in his every class.

Admittedly having been in a bit of a panic that afternoon, I'd gone to a local electronics store and purchased six top-of-the-line digital audio recorders. I'd quizzed the sales associate on the technology, eventually opting for something name-brand, compatible with both PC and Mac, and appallingly expensive. Price didn't matter to me one bit, and I gladly paid the one thousand dollars at checkout. On the way back to campus, I'd stopped at a local office supplies store and had purchased six ledgers, for the purpose of copying anything that might be shown by way of visual presentation. In fact, if I'd thought they would have allowed it at the time, I would have just bought six digital video recorders. (I wasn't very trusting in Tyler's artistic skills.) As it were, I'd eventually have audio from his every class, notes and problems taken from the boards, and would be able to grant Jasper as seamless a return back as humanly possible.

And this final obstacle wasn't going to get in the way of that, I reminded myself.

Once I reached my destination—the large, empty corridor of closed office doors and polished laminate flooring—I inhaled a nervous breath and searched for office five-oh-six. The sounds of my shoes and shallow breathing echoed through the hall, bouncing off the tall ceiling and dancing around me. One by one, I searched, my eyes scanning the name plates of the doors and finally halting on the one I sought. His name was engraved there, in fine lettering.

_506  
Abnormal Psychology  
Professor Carlisle Cullen, PhD._

I didn't know anyone from this particular course of Jasper's. I'd gone through my _very_ limited list of contacts around campus and had found none that took it. I was resigned to either asking random students—something that I wasn't particularly thrilled about—or just asking his professor outright.

I lifted my fist to the door and knocked quietly, though the sound still amplified loudly through the empty corridor. It only took a moment to hear his muffled and distant, "Come in."

I wrapped my hand around the knob and gently nudged it open, peeking my head in cautiously.

Dr. Cullen was behind a desk—or at least I assumed the desk existed under there somewhere—and appeared to be doing some kind of file organization. There was a row of boxes set across the far wall, labeled against it from A-to-Z with sheets of plain, white copy paper taped to their fronts and fluttering with intermittent shuffles. He was rolling between the boxes in his desk-chair, a pencil between his teeth as he dropped folders and papers into boxes. It looked as though he'd dressed down as soon as he'd entered his office. His jacket was thrown over the desk, and his crisp shirt was untucked from his slacks. He paused as I entered, swiveling the chair and pulling the pencil from his mouth. "If you're here for a transfer, I'm afraid the deadline passed last week," he informed, fingering through the stack of files that rested in his lap.

"No," I began, shifting awkwardly as I gestured to the items I held. "I'm here on behalf of one of your students—Jasper Hale," I hedged, uncertain that any professor could recall the name of his every student.

Slowly, his eyes rose to meet mine, his fingers stilling. "Jasper Hale," he repeated carefully, and I nodded.

"He's out of town for a family emergency, and I'm trying to get his lectures recorded…" I trailed off into more of a questioning tone than a request, holding out the equipment with unsure motions.

Dr. Cullen's lips pulled up into a small grin. "You're Edward," he stated matter of factly, gathering the stack of papers in his lap and setting them aside.

My eyebrows pulled together as I tilted my head.

Seeming to sense my bewilderment, he explained, "Jasper called me this morning. Said you'd be taking care of that."

"Oh," I responded in surprise, shifting to one side. "I didn't know he'd be calling his professors," I worried. I'd chosen to utilize Jasper's classmates as opposed to contacting to his professors. But what if Jasper had contacted all of them? What if they were all expecting me?

Dr. Cullen's stormy blue eyes inspected my face carefully before assuring, "I'm certain I was the only one he contacted."

"I don't want to be any trouble," I lied, knowing well that I didn't care who I troubled so long as I completed my task.

"You're no trouble," he assured, then noticed my eyes scanning the row of boxes along the wall. "You'll have to excuse the state of my office," he smiled wryly, leaning back in his chair with a creak. "Usually, my wife would help me with my annual organization ritual, but she beat me in rock, paper, scissors this year." His eyes fell to the items in my hand, curious.

"Oh, I brought..." I quickly explained my failure of finding anyone in his class to record the lectures and was more pleased than necessary when Dr. Cullen offered to do so himself. Satisfied that my meticulous planning wouldn't be compromised, I gave him the same instruction I'd given everyone else that day.

"The recorder should hold enough for thirty-five hours in MP3 mode," and then I looked to him with a stern face, "It's already set to MP3, and I'd prefer it stay this way." After a minute widening of his eyes, I continued, "Please tag lectures accordingly, by date, time, and subject matter. You can email them to the address I added to the manual." Setting down the recorder, I lift the ledger, "I'd also greatly appreciate it if any visual presentations were copied here. You can label the pages by date and course, and cross reference them with the audio tagged recordings correspondingly—and please, no pencils."

After I set both items on his desk, I released an anxious sigh. It was doubtful that everyone would be able to follow my thorough orders. I resolved to check their work after receiving the recordings, prepared to redo anything myself if necessary.

Dr. Cullen's eyebrows were hiked far up on his forehead when I turned to him, his lips slightly parted as his eyes danced from mine to the recorder. I knew the look he wore rather well, as I'd already seen it from five different people that day… and for the bulk of my scholastic career.

It said, "_Oh, he's one of _those_ people…_"

And I was. I was that kid who took a briefcase to debates in high school, wore suits, organized my writing utensils by type, color, and brand, and had three of every type of notepad.

"If it's too much work, I'm sure you can assign it to one of your more capable students," I suggested nervously.

His lips, finally closing, twitched for a moment before he replied, "I think I'm up for the task."

Relieved, I could feel the tension draining from my shoulders, though it returned soon after I realized that the entirety of my assignment was left in the hands of others. And then I recalled that Jasper had contacted his professor about this very thing, and I grew worried that he didn't trust me to fulfill my promise suitably. It really gnawed at my confidence.

"Uh…, Dr. Cullen?" I murmured, looking away and raking my nails across my scalp. "Why exactly would Jasper be calling you? I mean… was he concerned about this…" I trailed off, gesturing to the device on his desk and swallowing loudly.

I'd told him I'd handle it. Was he doubting me? Did he not want me to take care of these things?

For some reason, these questions mattered.

He pursed his lips for a moment, scrutinizing my anxious expression and pulling his brows together. Eventually, he replied, "In addition to being Jasper's professor, I'm also his counselor… of sorts."

Well, that was certainly a new development. I could feel a frown forming on my lips, attempting to understand why Jasper would need to be counseled by a professor of Abnormal Psychology, but I was coming up blank. Most disconcerting was that he hadn't said one word to me about any such thing. Had it been related to academics, I was certain he would have told me.

In fact, I couldn't comprehend why he'd need a counselor at all, when I'd always been a willing confidant. What did Dr. Cullen have that I lacked? A PhD? I inwardly scoffed at this, knowing that some crotchety, tweed-wearing professor couldn't ever be as good a friend as me—his peer. Still, it made something in the pit of my chest flare—similar to what I'd felt at the thought of Jasper having a girlfriend. I found my eyes searching his cluttered office, seeking some evidence that he'd grown closer to Jasper than me, and then I turned back to Dr. Cullen. "I wasn't aware he was having problems," I muttered, shoving my fists into my pockets to hide the curling of my fists.

He raised one sandy brow."No? It was only very recent," he explained as if I were missing something painfully obvious.

I could think of many things very recent that Jasper might seek counseling for, yet I convinced myself it was likely in regards to his father's condition. The other issue was simply too personal to discuss with a professor. Jasper wouldn't do that. Confident with my estimation, I nodded, but was surprised to hear him continue with a calculating stare, "In fact, I'm sure if you _really_ considered it, maybe you'd be interested in something similar?" He said this cryptically, yet undeniably… knowingly.

I felt like the air had been forcefully pulled from my lungs in one swift motion. My knees buckled, and I staggered back a half a step, my pulse beginning a sudden and frenzied rhythm that made my chest constrict. In an attempt to recover from this total shock that must have made me shamefully fucking transparent, I raised my chin and asked stiffly, "Why would _I_ need counseling?" and dared him with my narrowed—albeit terrified—eyes to expand on his suggestion.

The door, burning at my back, beckoned me to flee this air of suspicion created by his penetrating gaze. Jasper _had told him something_, and though I didn't know the specifics, I knew that Dr. Cullen knew quite enough.

_How could he _do_ this to me?_

Seemingly unaware of my complete inner turmoil, Dr. Cullen pursed his lips, arranging his fingers into one of those arrogant fucking steeples as he regarded me. "Everything said in my office remains here, Mr. Masen," he declared coolly, as if he weren't questioning the rapidly fraying threads of my sanity.

"There's nothing to say," I persisted, already turning toward the door with rigid limbs and a fuzzy head.

His voice chimed as I turned the knob, though I didn't stop. "Well, the offer is always open."

~-*-~

That night, as I paced the floor of my newly scoured condo and considered the day's events, I began finding myself downright fucking furious with Jasper. His confessions to Dr. Cullen changed everything. When it was only him and me, the problem was sufficiently contained and easily rectifiable. Now there was a witness, however third-party he might be.

It wasn't that I thought Dr. Cullen would divulge the sordid details of our business to anyone. It was just the fact that someone outside of him and me knew about it. Another person knowing made it real, tangible, and petrifying. Before Dr. Cullen came into the picture the situation seemed clearer, but now… now it was impossibly more difficult to ignore. And obviously, short of murder and memory-erasing technology that was yet to exist, there was no undoing it.

It felt like one domino had fallen and knocked another down. I wondered if it would snowball, leaving me to watch the inevitable decimation of the structure and foundations of my life.

And then the phone rang.

I froze in the middle of my hallway, the shrill ringing persistent and grating. My fists clenched, jaw locked as I walked to the phone, the stomps of my socks against plush carpet masking my fury. Yanking the phone from its cradle, I pressed it to my ear, my nostrils flaring. "What?" I answered.

There was a hiss of a sigh, and then Jasper's quiet voice. "Hey, it's me."

"How is he?" I cut to the chase, entirely disinterested in discussing anything that wasn't directly related to the emergency at hand.

"Just got out of surgery," he yawned, the breath from his mouth muffling his words. "The surgeons say he did good. Only minor complications," his voice tightened, but he didn't elaborate. "He's in recovery now. We'll get to see him soon, I think."

Uncertain if he'd know what to expect when dealing with a post-op of this sort, I spent a brief moment explaining what he'd be experiencing. His father would be cold to the touch, even a little stiff. It would be alarming, seeing and feeling someone that was alive but seemed so dead. He remained silent as I gave him a walk-through, because even though I was pissed off, I knew I couldn't bear for him to go through something so awful without offering the comfort of my friendship and advice.

"Is Rose with you?" I finally asked, hoping that he wasn't alone with his mother, who was obviously in no condition to be leaned on.

"Yeah, she came down for the week, too," he assured with a sigh, and I could hear the fatigue in his voice.

"You should get some sleep soon. After you see him in recovery, he'll be out for the whole night. Same goes for the others," I suggested.

He hummed, a shifting from the other end of the line, scratchy and course like the stubble I'd refused to shave. "You don't have to worry," he assured in a soft voice.

I ground my teeth together to stop myself from saying that I really didn't. Because that would have been a lie, no matter how gratifying it might have felt to cause him hurt in the wake of his betrayal. Instead, I uttered a quick, "Good night, then," and prepared to hang up.

"Wait!" His voice halted my hand, even though I was in no mood to be polite anymore. At my silence, he questioned in a whisper, "What about… before? I thought maybe we could talk about this morning…"

I could discern the subtle degree of anxiety in his breath and pinched the bridge of my nose. Sliding my back down the wall with the phone clutched to my ear, I pleaded, "I don't want to do this over the phone." _Really, I didn't want to do it at all..._

After a moment, he muttered, "Right," but added in a quick whisper, "Just… could you answer one question for me? It'll bother me, and I won't be able to sleep… Please?"

Blowing out a breath, I relented through clenched teeth, "Fine."

Jasper's breaths were disrupted by footsteps on the other end and distant voices. Eventually, they subsided, and the phone was so silent that I was afraid—or relieved—that he'd hung up. Until I heard him ask in a breathy, strained voice, "Was it just… pity?"

I dropped the microphone away from my mouth, burying it into the skin of my neck as I thumped my head against the wall and huffed. All of my anger toward him dissolved into a pool of guilt that I'd chosen such an extremely crappy day to reciprocate. In truth, I couldn't even resent him for confiding in Dr. Cullen. Shit, I'd gone to a shady prostitute to work out all my shit. The only difference was, his method actually helped. But now that I couldn't be angry, I realized that I'd never even considered how it must have looked to him—having sworn already that I wasn't interested and then choosing his moment of vulnerability to confuse the shit out of him. I wanted to apologize and explain it as I listened to his shallow, nervous breathing through the receiver still pressed to my ear. But I was incapable. I couldn't even blame the phone for that. If we were face-to-face, I still doubted I could.

Instead I just lifted the microphone to my mouth, licked my traitorously longing lips, and breathed a "No," that resounded so loudly, I had to hang up before his intake of breath deafened me.

~-*-~

"Edward, this is.. um, Jasper. Well I guess you knew that—"

_Nervous chuckle._

"Not to imply that no one else calls you or anything. I'm sure you get calls, or... whatever. Look, my dad woke up this morning. He was asking some nurse about sponge baths and getting my mom's signature eye roll, so I guess everything's as good as can be expected. Pretty drugged up, though. Not much for conversation or anything. So I hope school's going well."

_Long pause._

"I kinda' miss Angel's actually. The shittiness of this hospital's cafeteria food would shock you. But... they have really good bread. Fresh. I think it must come from a local bakery. Can hospitals contract to local bakeries, or do they have use those big conglomerates or something? I don't know. Maybe I'll ask. Hey, remember that experiment freshman year on practical fermentation? God, that's so random. Sorry. Though, I could really use some liquor."

_Another nervous chuckle._

"Well... um, I guess that's all I have to say. Well, for right now. Immediate present. There just isn't much news, is what I mean."

_Distant huff._

"I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

_Long pause._

"Uh, be safe."

_Click._

I stared dumbly at my phone, the voice mail operator's voice instructing me to press "One to save, two to return to the main menu, or three to delete this message."

My finger lingered over the rubber "1" for a split second before I realized how fucking stupid it'd be to save a message like that. Pressing three, I dropped the phone and grabbed a beer from the fridge, a smile flirting at my lips as I recalled our freshman year Food Sciences project.

_"You killed the yeast cell," I accused, narrowing my eyes into the conical flask._

_"Did not." His expression was careful and focused, forearms rested on the lab table. The lights were low, it being so late into the evening that the janitor had already cleaned the lab and shut the lights off. We were being covert, even though we had permission to use the equipment at any hour. Our professor seemed to have a bit of a soft spot for us.  
_

_"How long has it been?" he groused, resting his cheek on his arm.  
_

_I rolled my eyes, reminding, "It takes more than six hours to ferment and distill." Not that I needed to explain the process to Jasper. He knew it as well, if not annoyingly better, than I did.  
_

_Sighing, he lifted his head, only to plunge his hand down into his large school bag. "Patience is a virtue, yadda yadda yadda..." He paused, emerging with a tall glass bottle, full of clear liquid. His lips grew into a bright grin. "Let's get drunk now."_

_My jaw went slack, back tensing as I darted my eyes to the lab door. "You smuggled liquor onto campus? Are you insane?"_

_His hair bobbed with an enthusiastic nod, eyes shining as he bounced the bottle from hand to hand. _

_"What if we get caught? __Wait, how'd you even get it?"__ I wondered suspiciously. It wasn't exactly difficult to get a hold of alcohol on campus or anything, but it was far from being easy. Plus, it just seemed out of his character.  
_

_"I have connections," he shrugged._

_"What kind of connections?"  
_

_"Of-age connections," he answered. I merely stared at him skeptically. Huffing, he finally admitted, "Whatever. There's a dude on campus who'll get it for anyone at markup."_

_This made me feel suddenly quite guilty. Jasper didn't have much spending cash, usually pilfering all kinds of supplies and condiments from the cafeteria and hording ridiculous things, like pennies and toilet paper. I'd always admire his ability to find creative ways in which to be thrifty and conservative. And now he had splurged, and I couldn't possibly refuse, though I would have preferred us being far, far away from campus while engaging in illegal activities.  
_

_My father would shit a brick if I got in trouble.  
_

_"How much markup?" I eventually asked, resigned.  
_

_He scoffed, recognizing my defeat and opening the shiny, silver cap of the bottle with a smile. "It doesn't matter."_

_"It matters to me," I insisted, reaching for my wallet to at least cover half.  
_

_His smile fell as he set the bottle onto the dull black surface of the table and leveled me with his firm stare. "Stop being a fucking killjoy and get drunk with me, okay?"_

_So I did._

_In fact, I probably got a little too drunk. We spent two hours recognizing that a more intellectually stimulating experiment would have been in regards to Clostridium perfringens, but then we tried to pronounce it and spent an entire hour laughing at our attempts._

_"Closs-stree-dee-ummm perffff—" I paused, watching Jasper double over in laughter, and laughing myself as consequence. Jasper was always infectious like that. It was impossible to be in a crappy mood if he was in a good mood, and impossible to be in a good mood if he was in a crappy mood. He held his stomach and his hair tumbled over his eyes as his body bounced. After our laughter had settled down enough to do so, I went about recording the temperature into our log, but reaching for the nearby pen proved difficult, given that I was seeing a fuzzy representation of two._

_My hand knocked the large container of dry yeast, spilling the granulated substance over the lab table and onto the floor._

_"Fuckshitdamnass," I cursed, inspecting the mess that Jasper merely chuckled at._

_"Fuck it," he said, taking another drink from the bottle. "Leave it until later." And then he shrugged, waving his hand dismissively._

_Grimacing, I followed the specifications of the procedure and tried to ignore the mess as Jasper had requested. Unfortunately, I could feel my eyes wandering to the pile of yeast and narrowing in response. It was bad enough that we were getting drunk in the lab room, and it didn't feel right to make a wreck of it, too._

_Jasper watched me through glazed eyes as I sat stiffly in my stool, some of the powder resting on my thighs and making me uncomfortable. The dissolving exuberance made me realize how nauseous I felt and my stomach churned as I shifted awkwardly.  
_

_"Oh, fine," Jasper eventually muttered, jumping up from his seat and sweeping the powder into his hand.  
_

_"Let me," I happily insisted, immediately lurching up and quickly removing the powder onto a nearby paper. I licked my lips and dutifully righted the equipment, settling into my seat once done and feeling disturbingly better.  
_

_Jasper rolled his eyes, but a smile formed at the corner of his lips. "You're the only person I know that'll get ornery over a little spilled yeast," he observed, unmockingly.  
_

_And then we laughed at "spilled yeast," even though it wasn't really that funny. And then we laughed at the fact that Jasper had said "ornery" like some eighty-year-old woman. And the next week when we turned in our papers, we both got an "A."  
_

_And Jasper never asked me to leave anything untidy again._

~-*-~

Over the next week, Jasper never called when I was home. He knew my schedule well enough to always get my voice mail. I'd been relieved when I first noticed the pattern, unable to bear the inevitable awkwardness that would follow my admission that night. I could neither elaborate, confirm, nor deny my reasons for kissing him under the circumstances. Instead, Jasper left daily updates about his father on my voice mail, the ups and downs of his slow recovery, and obviously nervous rambles regarding hospital cafeteria food. It was almost amusing.

But then he'd end each message with this quiet little "Be safe," right before hanging up. Each time I heard it, it fluttered through the air like a dull moth, banging at my illuminated window pane. I'd stare dumbly at the phone before simply erasing it. The second time it happened, I figured it some weird, Texan thing, like "sweetheart," or "yonder." But the third time, I grew curious, and the fourth time I was convinced that he was setting a new precedent.

"Be safe?" I supposed to anyone else it wouldn't seem like anything but a simple farewell, but it wasn't. Jasper always ended phone calls with "_Later_," if he even said any farewell at all. So what the fuck did "_Be safe_" mean? I spent hours upon hours staring off into space and contemplating its meaning during my classes. Once, I'd even caught myself tracing the outlines of the phrase on the yellow margin of a legal pad. I had balled it up in my hand and thrown it away distractedly, trying desperately to pay attention to my priorities. But every evening when I'd come home and check my messages, it was there, as dependable as sunrise and laced with unspoken meaning.

On the sixth night since Jasper's departure, I listened to his latest message and eventually came to a satisfactory, yet alarming conclusion: "_Be safe_" was more than "_Good bye_," less than "_I miss you_," and existed somewhere between the spaces of "_See you soon_," and "_Take care._" It was also seemingly innocuous. Therefore, we'd left the bounds of normal, friendly etiquette and ventured into an obscure and experimental territory. I found myself impossibly more grateful that I didn't have to answer his calls and come up with my own stamp of parting. My palms grew clammy with the mere thought of it.

For most of the week, it was easier without him being there. I plunged back into my careful routine, and I could focus on Jasper through something easy and acceptable—school. I was able to obsess over my project in solitude, making calendars and charts to supplement the recordings and ledgers from Jasper's lectures. I nursed the assignment with such care that I had to remember to make time for my school work. It was much like taking on his entire course load in addition to my own. I got six emails per day, for which I organized separate, color-coded folders on my desktop computer for the various MP3 files. I listened to each to ensure quality, double-checked the tags and names, and fixed whatever anyone had fucked up. Sometimes it'd keep me up at night, because I'd lay in bed and wonder if I needed to personally advise Tyler on how to spell his own Professor's name correctly. It was utterly ridiculous how much work I put into a seemingly simple favor. Maybe it was the sudden influx of Psychology lectures I'd listened to over the week, but I wasn't entirely oblivious as to what I was doing. My diligent organization of Jasper's course work was the only acceptable method in which to show him... whatever it was I was felt.

I wanted it to be perfect, to please him when he returned, to gain some kind of rewarding praise. I wanted to see his lips grow into that dimpled smile when he realized that I'd carved out a little piece of my anal-retentiveness just to please him.

The most terrifying moment , however, was my realization that I would have acted this way long before he'd ever kissed me.

~-*-~

I watched as Dr. Cullen rifled through his top desk drawer, my head down while I chewed the inside of my cheek and waited for him to locate the voice recorder I'd given him eight days prior. Jasper had left me a message the previous night indicating that he'd be arriving home late this evening. His father was home and under his mother's capable care. His parents didn't want him to stay away from school for any longer than necessary and risk his scholarship.

"A-ha!" Dr. Cullen exclaimed jubilantly as his hand emerged with the black device grasped between his pale fingers. He looked to me with a goofy grin. "Thought it could hide from me," he kidded, placing it on the desktop and replacing the various items he'd removed from the drawer.

Then the room was uncomfortably silent.

I studied my toes and scratched at my jaw, thick with gruff that I hadn't shaved since—

"Did you need something else?" he asked, straightening his glasses on his nose. He propped his ankle on his knee and his chin on his fist, inspecting me carefully.

Clearing my throat, I let my eyes fall to a random poster on the wall and feigned interest as I wandered to it, stuffing the recorder and my fists into my jeans pockets. "I was pondering selfishness," I finally whispered, not meeting his questioning gaze,

The air in the room grew thick in that stifling way.

"Selfishness?" he asked in a low voice, as if the silence of the room was delicate and easily fractured.

Slowly, I nodded, my gaze piercing the picture—the silhouette of two female faces, appearing to be leaning in for a kiss. "Selfishness, people being selfish, wanting what they shouldn't, causing disorder as a result…" I trailed off just as quietly as he had spoken, peeking at him over my shoulder.

His back straightened infinitesimally. "Selfishness is that detestable vice which no one will forgive in others, and no one is without in himself."

I smiled wryly, palms sweating as I teased, "Henry Ward Beecher? Leave it to a psychologist to quote a hypocritical Congregationalist."

"_Allegedly_ hypocritical," he corrected.

The room was silent once again and I swallowed as I looked back to the picture, commenting absently, "So, you're a big fan of black and white—"

"Edward," Dr. Cullen interrupted. "You didn't come here to ask about my taste in art."

I was thankful my face was hidden from his burning gaze as it melted into the most defeated expression. "You've talked to Jasper recently," I waged in a murmur, sparing him a furtive glance.

He shrugged, nodding. "He called me this morning, but that's not unusual."

My jaw suddenly clenched and my eyes scanned my side, finding a chair that I lowered myself into with a petulant plop. "He doesn't call when I'm home," I informed sourly, my nails digging into my palms.

Dr. Cullen, having leaned forward in interest since I planted my ass in his seat replied, "I may have advised him to that effect."

My eyes snapped to his, wide and incredulous. "Why in the hell would you do that?"

While the one-way communication had been relieving _at first_, eventually, I'd begun to wonder why he didn't want to talk to me. It had kept me up the night before, tossing beneath my blankets and scowling at the door, wondering if I'd given him the wrong answer or had acted like an asshole—which I probably had.

Cue dramatic over-reaction and a drag-ass day on nothing but two hours of sleep.

"He was nervous about his next conversation with you. It was bothering him a great deal," Dr. Cullen reasoned, unapologetic.

I quickly looked away, opting not to pry into the specifics of these conversations even though I ached to know their static whispers and hidden mumbles about me. I wasn't used to Jasper keeping secrets from me—_about_ me. Dr. Cullen's argument was logical, of course. I was nervous too, and I didn't have a family emergency to consider like Jasper did. My shoulders slumped, and I dragged a palm over my face, rubbing at my eyes. "I don't know what he wants," I finally admitted into my palm. I met Dr. Cullen's gaze imploringly, and I'm certain he could see the plea in my stare. I needed guidance beyond that of an experienced hooker.

His face seemed to soften as he eased back, swiveling in his chair and replying, "I'm sure Jasper will be happy following _your_ wishes." But then he asked the inevitable, "What do _you_ want?"

_Selfish, disgusting things._

I wanted his lips on my skin, and my fingers in his hair, and I _wanted_ disgusting. I wanted disgusting to crawl inside of my mouth and nestle against my tongue and make my eyes roll back. I wanted to hear myself make that disgusting moan again, and then I wanted to make it louder, wanted to shove that moan down his fucking throat and pull it back up again so I could analyze and worship its tenor. I wanted to explode into a million effervescent bubbles, finally fizzle and shoot to the surface of that disgustingly divine sensation that I've been stuck living in the bottomless depths of. Most of all, I wanted the capability of describing my desires without the necessity of the word "disgusting." But I couldn't say these things. It was shameful, not only because I felt the desires, but because I _thought_ them disgusting.

I answered Dr. Cullen, "Everything, nothing. I—I want... and yet I don't—or _can't_." My words, cluttered and stumbling forth clumsily, tainted my face with a deceiving red. My brow furrowed, and I found it physically difficult to verbalize anything regarding what I _really_ wanted. I grew tired of attempting, eventually releasing a hissing sigh through my teeth. "What I want is impossible to reconcile..." I finally concluded.

Watching what must have looked like a bad case of verbal constipation, Dr. Cullen stared at me, puzzled. "Maybe a good start to reconciling is seeing both sides of the picture," he slowly nodded to the picture above my head. I shifted my gaze to the black, feminine blobs. "Rubin's Vase," he said, and when I focused on the center, it really_ was a vase._

Feeling as though I was still completely unprepared for Jasper's return, but completely annoyed at Dr. Cullen's vague counseling, I lifted myself from the chair with a huff. His eyes followed me across his office as I approached the door and muttered a glum farewell.

All Dr. Cullen could likely offer me were kind words about acceptance and trite quotes and optical illusions. He couldn't tell me how to stop wanting Jasper's mouth on mine. He couldn't explain why my actions would effect the lives of many, not just my own, and how that was even fair. He couldn't take away the fact that my surrender would be greedy and uncalled for and he couldn't help me decide if it was worth it.

He couldn't tell me why I found it so difficult to care anymore.

"Edward," he halted me with a patient voice and my shoulders ached from the tension of our meeting. I turned to him wearily, finding a small, sad grin stretched over his lips. "Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live, it is asking others to live as one wishes to live."

"Oscar Wilde," I noted with a hollow chuckle, shaking my head. "So you're saying," I wondered aloud, "that I'd be more selfish to force Jasper to settle for my friendship than... giving him... more..." I gestured with my hand, unable to voice it aloud.

"That's only one possible view of a very big picture. I'm sure there are many, if you look hard enough," he answered, finally breaking my gaze and shuffling through a nearby stack of papers.

"Oscar Wilde was a self-proclaimed anarchist, you know." _Not to mention jailed for sodomy..._

He scoffed, citing, "Anarchy is the only slight glimmer of hope."

Growing annoyed with his continued quotations, and even more annoyed that I didn't know the source, I simply blinked at him, a silent question.

His smiled impishly, answering, "Mick Jagger."

~-*-~

After I arrived back home, I was still "me" when I looked in the mirror, albeit a visibly exhausted rendition of my features. I splashed water on my face and pondered selfishness, ignoring the trilling drip of water that penetrated my silent reflection and marred the elegance of soundlessness.

I'd never allowed myself to be selfish. My whole life was spent living up to an impossible ideal, following orders and expectations. I'd never had a problem with doing so because I figured, when the time came, it would be okay for me to indulge in any exorbitance I'd eventually desire. Every "A+" and award and word of praise was a deposit that went toward this concept of extravagance. It would make it alright, acceptable.

I hadn't expected to want to cash in on it so soon.

With a _man_.

With _Jasper._

My fingers gripped the curve of porcelain as I considered just... exploring. I was in college, after all, and isn't that what college is for? Part of me wanted to refuse even justifying it because I had _earned _my dividend of selfishness. Part of me hated that I even had to justify it at all. Part of me just wanted Jasper's fucking tongue in my mouth.

_That_ part of me was rather erect.

And then I found that, when I allowed myself to really consider the possibility of allowing something _more_ with Jasper—nights on my sofa spent making out and feeling his hair beneath my fingers, his lips covering mine, and our moans filling my apartment—it was the most excited I'd ever felt. My pulse raced, and my fingertips twitched to its rhythm, unwittingly counting down the seconds until I'd hear his fist against my door or his breath over the phone. It was the errant promise of something new and thrilling, like the last day of school before summer began. Yet it was also clandestine and intimate and the wrong of it just made it feel all the more appealing.

With one, gusty breath, I faced myself in the mirror and finally lifted the razor to my face, all lathered up in white and secrecy and memories of _him_. Then I put the blade to my skin and began cleaning the slate, severing the keepsake of our last kiss and watching the course hairs dance at the water's surface as I dipped and cleansed.

What good were memories unless I planned to make more?


End file.
